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strang3lov3 · 21 hours ago

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Love On You

“Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance.

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

TAGS - pwp one shot, smut, dad!joel, incest, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving, Joel eats you from behind), free use, dubcon, age gap, uncle tommy sprinkles, little bit of angst and hurt/comfort, jealousy, reader is an adult. this is icky and you've been warned. 4k words.

A/N - Daddy’s back, albeit a month fucking later than intended. Such is life, though. Thanks for all the love recently 🩷 have a safe rest of your week, guys.

The way his bed smells serves as a reminder of how much you miss him.

It’s funny how things work like that. Joel’s bed has always smelled like him. Doesn’t matter if he’s using a new laundry detergent, a new brand of bar soap, a spritz of cologne he saves for only the most special of occasions (daddy-daughter date night, of course), it’ll always smell like him. Earthy, musky, sweaty. The same thing you smell when you hug him and bury your face into his neck. The same thing you’ve always smelled.

Joel could say the same about you. It’s cliché, but it’s true: the top of your head does always smell like you. That concentrated, soft scent of your skin. His skin. If he’s really lucky, you’ll fall asleep on his chest like you did when you were little, back when you’d stand on your tiptoes and raise your arms up high as you begged him to walk with you on his shoulders. Joel will smooth the fabric of your shirt against your back with his wide, calloused palm, then squeeze you tight and kiss the top of your head. He’ll inhale deeply, thanking the lord for blessing him with the privilege, the honor, the gift of being your father.

Of being your old man, when you punch him in the arm and tease him about his sore back. Maybe it’d be less sore if he had the smarts to put you down when you got too big for piggy back rides.

Of being your daddy, when you want something. When you want him to pick you up your favorite candy from the gas station on his way home from work. Joel gets himself Reese’s. When you need forty bucks to pick up some stupid, kitschy purse you just have to have. Your old purse works just fine, kiddo. Daddy, when he’s pounding into you, and all you can do is whimper those two little syllables.

Of being your dad. Dad when you’re pissed at him. Daaaad when he tells his stupid jokes, and you’re biting down on the smile you inherited from him to deny him the satisfaction of hearing you laugh at them. Dad, dad, dad paired with the squeaking of your mattress springs as you hump your pillow, crying out in frustration when you can’t make yourself come as hard as he does.

You’re pissed at him now. He should be here. It’s 10:15 and said he’d be here, with a pizza and a two liter of Coke to split. Promised, even. You know what he’s gonna say. He’s so sorry, kiddo. There was an issue with an order, a miscommunication with a client. Uncle Tommy can’t do anything right. Doesn’t know why he keeps him around. Blood is thicker than water, or whatever bullshit they say.

You wonder if Joel has a girlfriend. That’d really piss you off. There was one time he brought a woman home, and you could hear him fucking her in his bed. The headboard gently slamming against the wall, all of the woman’s moans. Joel’s own grunting and groaning. It made you so angry and frustrated and upset and fucking jealous. You are Dad’s girl. Not her. Not anyone else. You masturbated to the sounds of their fucking that night, whimpering for Joel.

You chastise yourself for being angry with him. He’s been so busy lately, working extra hours to put you through college. Tuition increased again. Joel sighed, said something about it bleeding him dry. But he doesn’t mind. Dad says he wants to give you the life he was never afforded, that he wants better for his girl.

And that’s why he’s so strict, you know? He knows you may think it’s because he’s an asshole, trying to ruin your life with an oppressive eight o’clock curfew. Why he’s so strict about who you’re talking to, and the clothes you wear. Dad says he needs to know if you’ve got any boyfriends. He doesn’t want you “in a jam” as he so graciously puts it.

Last week a Fedex guy came to your door, package in hand. He was about your age, maybe a few years older. He had pretty green eyes, a mustache not unlike Joel’s but lighter in color. Stupid, grown out hair. Fucking hippie. Joel’s brows furrowed at the flirty smile you flashed at him as he passed you that little package. The Fedex guy knew what it was, you knew what it was, and Joel did not. All Joel saw was the way you shifted on your feet, how you tugged your shirt down a little. Your little giggle - a giggle Joel would like to reserve for himself only.

When he asked if you were seeing anyone, Joel cleared his throat and stood behind you at the door. “Oh, no,” he answered for you. “She ain’t datin’. Girl’s gotta focus on her education.” Joel put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you a little too hard. It’s easy to hide jealousy and possessiveness behind fatherly concern. It’s innocuous.

“Dad,” you whispered.

Joel ignored you. “‘Sides,” he added, “Too young t’be datin’, aren’tcha?”

You paused before speaking, eyes flickering up to meet the delivery guy’s own. “Yes,” you mumbled.

Joel smiled at the man, “Take care, guy. Back to work,” and slammed the door shut. Not five minutes later you were pinned under Joel, his hand on your thigh as he repeatedly slammed into you. “I’ll make you - oh, fuck - I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it if you ever think about toyin’ with those other boys,” Joel growled in your ear. “You’re mine,” he said, punctuating the statement with a deliberately brutal thrust, hard enough to hurt you inside a little. “My fuckin’ girl.”

Your belly rumbles in hunger. Joel wasn’t home at six like he said he’d be, but he did leave you leftovers in the fridge just in case. You debated heating them up but instead reached into the freezer for some ice cream, and ate it with a spoon right out of the tub. What your dad doesn’t know won’t kill him. That’s what Uncle Tommy always says, anyway.

You used to eat ice cream with Joel like this, too. There were these special nights you’d share together, where you’d find Joel in the kitchen, eating spoonfuls of ice cream over the sink. Dad says calories don’t count that way. And likewise, Joel would find you doing the same thing when he’d wander downstairs for some water.

You were never in trouble for it. Joel would grab a spoon of his own and eat with you, sitting at the kitchen table as you talked about life. The Real Shit, as Joel calls it. So often, people fall into a routine. Eating the same food, asking the same questions. How was work, how was school, et cetera, et cetera. But during these late nights, with eyes burning from exhaustion, you and Joel would talk about the real shit. He’d be the dad and offer you his old man advice about the things you’ve been keeping from him, the things that’ve been bugging you lately.

“Got too much runnin’ around in that pretty head of yours,” he’d tell you, gently bending you over the kitchen table. He fits himself so nicely inside of you, only after carefully, considerately working you up. Working you open. Dad’s so slow, so gentle, soothing all of those worries and shushing your words. “Don’t think about nothin’. Jus’ be quiet,” he’d whisper. Let Dad take care of it. That’s what he’s there for, anyway.

Those special nights happen less and less as life ramps up. But that’s how it goes, right? Things can’t last forever. It gives you the same melancholic feeling like when you were a kid, and Joel would lay in bed with you until you fell asleep. Keeping the monsters away, he’d say with a wink. In your sleepy, dreamy haze you’d feel his lips against your forehead, the most loving and tender of kisses. You’d roll over to snuggle into his chest, but he’d already be gone. It’s part of life. You were getting too big for him to be able to still sleep in your bed. There’s just not enough room, baby.

While upset, you sigh, and hug tightly the pillow Joel sleeps on. You reach for the remote and take it off of his nightstand, then turn on his TV. Seinfeld’s on. Joel’s favorite.

Joel pulls into his driveway, amped from the drive home. The day went on longer than it should have by a few hours. Joel didn’t even get to take lunch, which pissed him off. He got reamed for things beyond his control, things that weren’t his fault. He bitched Tommy out when he had the chance. Joel sliced his fucking thumb open too, which was just what he needed. Of course. He’d forgotten to gas up the truck when he had the chance so he had to stop and do that before heading home to you. The cherry on top was the forty minute train he got stopped by.

Everything coming up fuck, another bad day. Joel’s been having more and more of these bad days lately.

He needs to cool off before he sees you. You two are one and the same, truth be told. You have got your father’s temper through and through. It was visible from day one - the tantrums you’d throw, little feet stomping up the stairs. That indignant pout, not unlike Joel’s. You’re calmer now, but a fucking master at making those so very Joel smartass comments under your breath. You learned from the best, didn’t you?

Joel taught you to blow off steam. “S’okay to be mad, honey, but you need’a get a hold of yourself.”

He could stand to take his own advice. Joel would be so much better off if he used you as much as he uses his fist. We all know how it goes, right? It’s quick, it’s easy. Reliable. But oh, how much better he’d feel if he regularly used you for the very thing he made you for. Sliding into your warm, wet cunt with the cock he fucked your mother with, filling you with his come. It helps that it keeps you in line, right? A hard fuck to show you who’s in charge here. Who’s father, who’s daughter. An orgasm to keep you satiated, calm.

Joel opens the door of his truck, grunting in anger when the door handle falls off, because of fucking course it does. Add that to the laundry list of shit wrong with the damn thing - oil change, slow leak in the passenger side front tire, an alignment wouldn’t hurt.

He takes a deep breath in and out, all that warm air and the scent of petrichor filing his lungs. It reminds him of better days with you, and it serves to calm him. Not a lot, but just a little. Your favorite flowers you’ve planted in those old pots painted and stamped with your handprints are blooming on the porch. You got mad at Joel when he plucked one and put it in your hair. Nose scrunched up and everything.

Joel enters the front door - unlocked, of course. When are you gonna remember, kid? He tracks a little dirt into the kitchen as he stops to drink a glass of water. While doing so, he opens the fridge and considers heating himself up some leftovers, if there are any.

…There are. Which means you didn’t eat, so you’re probably cranky. Fucking great.

Joel shuts the fridge and leaves his glass on the cheap ass pine table in his dining room. His work boots thudding with each heavy step he takes, making his way up the stairs. Joel peels off his damp shirt, and the cool breeze from the air conditioning tickles his sweaty neck. He is in desperate need of a shower and a beer to wash the day away, but first, he needs his baby girl.

You’re not in your bedroom. You’re in his, laying in the bed he made you in. Arms wrapped around his pillow. The bluish light from the TV flashes across your figure, highlighting every curve of yours that he loves. There’s a warm breeze coming from the window, gently blowing the curtains.

He taps on the open door twice, then swings it open the rest of the way. “Hey, kiddo.”

“You’re late,” you mumble, tone biting. Joel walks towards the window and shuts it, then sits down next to you, groaning as he brings his foot across his knee to untie his boot.

“Yeah, I know.” Joel drops the boot and does the same to the other, and unbuckles his old, worn, leather belt. “Close the damn window if you’re gonna have the AC on, dummy. Lettin’ all the cold air out.”

“Where were you, Dad?”

Joel sighs and pats your ass, covered in his comforter. “Work.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Joel stops and faces you, brows pinched in concern. “Where the hell else would I be?”

You shrug, purposely avoiding his gaze. Making your little face, bottom lip popped out. “Hey. You look at me when you’re talkin’ to me,” Joel warns. “Raised ya better’n that.”

You look over your shoulder, brows narrowed in anger and suspicion. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

The way you look at him, all defiant and filled with contempt, whether imagined or real. You’re trying to start something you can’t finish. Trying to play a game that you can’t win, a game that Joel will win at every time. It takes everything he has not to take the bait. He doesn’t want to fight. He answers your question with one of his own, “Y’really think I got time for another girl in my life?”

“Maybe.”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his dirtied hair before he speaks. “I can barely handle your troublemakin’ ass, sweetheart. Last thing I need is a girlfriend. Now quit fuckin’ grillin’ me,” he scolds, then sucks in his gut so he can unbutton his jeans. “Who’s the parent here?”

You don’t answer him immediately. So Joel leans over you, poking at your sides and tickling you. “Hm? Who’s your daddy? Who loves ya?”

You fight him. Try to, at least. Squirming away, struggling to swat away his teasing, tickling fingers as you giggle despite yourself. Joel ignores your complaints as he tears the comforter off of your body, then pats your ass. “Scooch, trouble. Make some room f’me.”

You can’t do so silently. Not without a vocalization of disapproval, upset that Joel’s disrupting your comfort. “Daaad,” you whine when he presses a quick kiss against your cheek, then unzips his pants and pushes them down his thighs, leaving them at his feet. Still looped into his jeans, Joel’s belt clatters against the bed frame as he crawls over your body.

“Oh, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again and again, fingers slipping under the gusset of your panties as he pulls them to the side. He smells like sweat and sawdust, just like he always does when he comes home. “M’the worst dad ever, huh?”

“Yes,” you snap. You’re not in the mood for it, for him. You’re still pissed that he was late coming home and showed up empty-handed. He said that he’d watch a scary movie with you. “You are.” You kick him in the thigh as you huff angrily.

That pisses him off. “Hey. Don’t you fuckin’ gimme that shit, kid,” he warns, putting a hand on the back of your neck as he pushes you into the pillow, squeezing you there the way a dog bites its young. “Behave yourself or you ain’t gonna like what’ll happen. We clear?”

Nothing.

“I asked ya a question. Are we. Clear?”

“Yes,” you concede. “I’m sorry.”

“M’your father, an’ I’ll love on ya if I wanna. You’re mine, you understand me?” You’re quiet as you nod. Joel loosens his grip on your neck and rubs you with his thumb. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispers. “I know you’re pissed that I’m late, an’ I get it. Ain’t fair. Jus’ let me make it up to you, alright?”

Joel kisses your cheek one last time, then kisses his way down your back. The tender way his lips touch your skin feels so incredible. It’s erotic and arousing, but also deeply soothing. His wide hands are warm against your skin, and his weight on your body makes you feel at home in a way nothing else does.

With your panties still pulled to the side, Joel nudges your thighs apart. “Actually, gimme a pillow, darlin’. Neck’s gonna be killin’ me.”

You reach for a pillow and toss it back. Joel lifts you up and slides it beneath your hips, then pats you when he’s ready for you to settle onto it, dragging his hands along your skin after. He palms your ass, squeezing and kneading all of that plush flesh before separating you with his thumbs. He traces you with two fingers, still dirty from a hard day’s work. You’re so slick, so soft. “Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance.

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

“I-I do,” you whimper, moaning loudly when he reaches his favorite spot inside you with his fingertips. “Hate you so much.”

“Uh huh. Heard it all before, kiddo.”

Joel pulls his fingers from you and replaces them with his tongue, burying it between your sensitive folds. Just like how he did seconds before, he traces your seam and your entrance with the tip of his tongue, then dips into you, groaning at the sweet taste.

He savors you, kissing and lapping at your cunt, tasting all of that sensitive flesh. All just for him. You can feel his mustache and beard tease your skin as he moves lower, tongue finding your clit. Joel circles it once, then twice, then laves over it sloppily. “Oh, Dad,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to tug at his graying hair. Remember when you’d hold his hair like that when he’d put you on his shoulders?

Joel hums as he eats you, sucking your clit between his lips. He can feel it swell and throb, and can feel your arousal dripping onto his nose. You’re such an eager girl, he thinks, as you writhe and push your ass back to grind against his mouth. Joel licks you for a moment or two longer, then pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He pushes his boxers down his thighs and his erection, hard as ever, springs up against his stomach. He spits into his hand and pumps his cock, then spreads your legs wider. Joel brackets your thighs with his own, keeping a hand on your waist while notching the blunt head of his cock inside your slick hole.

He waits a second before pushing into you, just to feel you arch and beg for it. Joel chuckles, “Easy, kiddo.” He slides into you in such a way that has him letting out a deep groan of relief, and he hangs his head once he bottoms out. “Doin’ okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you sigh, settling into his pillow. Joel pushes a little hair out of your eyes, cock pulsing inside of you, then pulls out almost all of the way. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, slowly thrusting in again. “The fuckin’....fuckin’ parts guy didn’t deliver,” Joel says with a grunt, punctuating the words with another thrust. “An’ Uncle Tommy fucked up the goddamn…oh, Christ. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. My fuckin’ girl, I missed ya so much.”

You hum and moan, feeling the satisfying rhythm of Joel fucking in and out of you. The graying, wiry hair from his bush tickling the skin of your ass. His cock fits you perfectly, like you were made for it, for him. And really, weren’t you?

Joel tightens his grip on your waist, denting your skin with his fingernails. He keeps himself close to you, savoring that beautiful, special feeling of his bare skin against yours. And you do the same, loving the comforting pressure of his body on your own.

“Y’eat any dinner while I was gone?” Joel whispers against your ear, rocking his hips. “Hm?”

“I–yes, Dad.”

“Real food, not just snacks, right? Was there somethin’ green on your plate?” He kisses your temple.

“Mhm.”

“Uh huh. I saw the green beans in the fridge, hon.” Oh, your beautiful smile, mischievous as it is. The one he gave to you, along with that scrunch on the bridge of your nose. “Betcha remembered ice cream though, huh?”

“Of course,” you murmur, wiggling your fingers. Joel understands the cue and reaches for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours, so much smaller than his.

“Figures,” he replies softly. Joel stays quiet for a second, and the only sounds filling the room are his skin against yours, and your shared heavy breathing. “Up a second, kiddo,” he murmurs, pausing his movements. He lifts up and you follow, and then he slides his palm under your tummy, and touches your clit with three of his calloused fingertips. When he builds a pace again, you moan loudly with the added pleasure. “Learn anything new at school?”

Joel smiles at your lack of an answer. You’re prone beneath him, sighing in time with his every deep thrust. “C’mon, baby. M’not payin’ for college if you’re not learnin’ anything,” he says. “I’ll pull your ass out. Then ya can start helpin’ out with the mortgage, huh?”

“Fuck - I learned - I learned history, and…I can’t remember right now, Dad. Please…”

All that attitude, all that fight melting away as he fucks you apart. He knows how much you needed him. He needed you too, honey. Joel always did have a knack for consoling you, for charming you out of your tantrums and your moods. Maybe it’s less of a skill on his part, and more that you’re just a daddy’s girl through and through. His fucking girl.

“Oh, baby girl. No wonder you’re all bent outta shape, huh? Haven’t been lovin’ on ya enough, have I?” As he rolls his hips into you, he orbits his fingers around your clit, making sure to pull the hood back to make it as sensitive as he can. He fucks you harder and faster, all of his thick length splitting you open and reaching every spot inside you that only he can tend to. “What’m I gonna do with you?”

Love you. It’s all he can do, as your father. Just love you.

It’s funny the way your moans start to change, how they go from loud and rather rhythmic and musical in a way to quiet. Breathy and short. It’s a near silence and then - oh, there it is. You’re coming apart on his cock, soaking him with your arousal. Joel fucks you through it, whispering nothings into your ear the whole time, words only the two of you get to know. And once he’s pulled every last bit of pleasure from you that he could, Joel chases his own release. He pounds into you sloppily, biting his lip and grunting as he finishes, painting your insides with thick ropes of the very come that made you. How special is that?

After taking a beat, cock still throbbing inside of you, Joel pulls out and watches his spend spill from your pussy. He clears his throat, then speaks. “You’re still takin’ them pills I ordered for ya, right?”

You pause, cheeks heating up. “Oh, crap. I forgot to tonight, Dad.”

Joel says your name in a warning tone, then heads to your room and for your nightstand. Your stomach drops when he opens that drawer, afraid he’s gonna find your vibrator. Oh, fuck.

Joel returns to you, tiny pill in hand. “Open,” he tells you, dropping the pill onto your tongue when you open your mouth. He gives you his day old glass of water on his nightstand and watches you swallow. “Good girl.”

You smile, adjusting in bed. You do the same stretch as your father, and the same yawn, too.

Your tummy rumbles. “I’m starving, Dad,” you tell Joel.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good thing y’got leftover green beans in the fridge.”

If looks could kill, Joel thinks. He laughs at his own little joke, then bends over and pulls his phone out of his jeans, and dials the phone number of the pizza place he was going to pick up from.

More dad!joel here

If you enjoyed, please let me know 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write. Asks are obviously welcomed, but I’d also appreciate if you’d consider reblogging - I know there’s a lot of people hesitant to publicly engage with taboo kinks such as this and prefer to do so quietly, but it’s really nice when readers show their support. Strength in numbers and all that.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #Joel miller x reader smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #dad!joel #cw incest

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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 3 days ago

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wake up call - spencer reid fem!reader

a night partying turns the morning into one big whirlwind of figuring out how the hell you ended up in your coworker's bed

genre: fluff wc: 1.4k warnings: bau!reader, odd!reader, reader momentarily thinks she slept with spencer, reader walks in on spencer in a towel, embarrassment a/n: this is for my build a fic!!! thank you so much for 500 followers i can't believe it i feel famous💗 side note: this is dedicated to my baby @esote-rika i love you so much mwah mwah

see polls here

The funny—or rather, awful—thing about drinking is that it almost never leads you to good places. It leaves you floaty, giggly (more so than usual), and without any feel for what’s appropriate. Boundaries are tossed out of every window, crashing harshly onto the street below and ruining everything in its path. Shy demeanors flake away to reveal unfortunately weird girls.

Fun and games, they say. It starts with partying with your coworkers and ends with one big group of drunk idiots. Drooling on each other, placing far too much trust in each other’s unsturdy hands.

Far too wasted and stumbly for your own good, you couldn’t possibly drive yourself home.

You knew that.

Yet…

Your eyes flutter open as the flurry of memories from the night previous remain that—a flurry. Each snapshot of laughter and secret spilling lasts only a moment each. Looking down at your legs tangled within sheets that aren’t yours, you realize you don’t know how you got here. And, more importantly, you don’t know where you are. You scan the room with hazy eyes.

Navy blue walls, wooden old furniture, scientific posters on the walls, books.

Spencer?

Yes, it was his apartment that said partying took place but why are you still here at—you look to the small clock on his nightstand—6:47am?

It’s not like you could’ve possibly…

Could you? Surely not, right?

Of course you think he’s smart, awkward, totally your type, but that doesn’t mean anything.

You think he’s adorable because, well, you have eyes.

But at the current moment you’re not sure you can place your trust in them.

So, does that mean you’ve slept with your coworker?

Your eyes drop to your legs again, this time noticing that they’re still covered by sheer black tights. That’s a good sign. One you’ll take to heart happily.

When your feet hit the ground, you’re unsure where you should go.

The side of the bed you hadn’t slept on is slightly disturbed. The pillow has the imprint of a person in it. You wonder if he slept alongside you for the entire night. You wonder if he felt it every time you repositioned yourself.

It’s not something to put thought into, you conclude.

With not one teensy ounce of consideration or any form of forethought, you pad toward the door and slip through. The remnants of last night litter the floor. A trash bag sits by the leather couch, filled with bottles and wine corks and paper cups. A blanketed silhouette haunts the couch. She’s blonde, pink lipstick faded and smeared in a not-so-fashionable manner. Soft snores fall against the leather.

Penelope.

Your graceless feet stumble back toward the bedroom that’s not yours. Frantic eyes search the room like it’s the first time you’re seeing it (it’s the second). Your shaky hands push the door closed, letting it softly click.

On the (not so) off chance you really did sleep with Spencer, Garcia is not the first person you want to know. Although, who is?

Not relevant.

Finding a spot on the floor, you cover your face. A soft groan passes your lips—a groan filled with pure self hatred. Because how did you end up here? In a very abstract way, you suppose it’s beautiful how every tiny decision—spontaneous or planned—affects where you end up. In a very realistic way, it sucks.

You think your impulse control accounts for at least half of the places you end up. As if to prove that point, you stand and walk to what you know leads to the bathroom. Mindlessly, your hand finds the doorknob of the bathroom door.

When it swings open, you’re welcomed with the sight of Spencer. Half naked and afraid—mortified really. In only his boxers.

You squeal, eyes being covered by your hands as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—uh—!”

“It’s okay! Really—I should’ve…” his jaw goes slack when he realizes that you’re actually the one to blame. Not that he’d ever develop the capability to blame you for absolutely anything.

Spencer stares at you, standing there with your eyes covered and head low. His eyes trail over your crumpled clothes, your sweater, your shorts, your tights.

“I’m really sorry, I should’ve knocked or at least stepped really loud or—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” You can practically hear him shaking his head.

You nod and squeak, “I’ll leave.”

Your back is to him in an instant. Cheeks hot to the touch, you let out a long breath. You feel as though this whole morning has been plucked from your own personal nightmares. First, waking up with no memory as to what (or who) you spent the night doing. And then the horror you just caused.

You wipe smeared mascara from your under-eye, loathing yourself a little more every second that passes.

The door creaks open slowly before the silhouette of your coworker peeks out. Now, he’s in a hoodie and sweatpants—possibly the most casual you’ve seen him. Clearing your throat, you look down at your feet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble before going on a pure tangent, “I woke up and didn’t know where I was or how I got there or why I got there… and then I saw Garcia and then walked in on— well… you know.”

Spencer clears his throat in the same way you just did. “I know.”

You lift your head to find his eyes–wide and innocent.

“I’m really sorry!”

“It’s okay! I promise. I—I mean, you’ve seen other guys… like that.”

While he’s not lying a big lie, that’s not relevant information, is it? “Well, I— Yes… but I— That’s not—!”

“I just meant—!”

And then… silence.

Filled with awkwardness and tension, the room falls into utter quiet. You swallow to hopefully ease the queasy feeling settling in your gut. You’re unsure whether it’s caused by your liver trying to survive or by the man in front of you (and how you can now picture him naked). That is not a thing you’re trying to do, by the way.

“I know… what you meant,” you mutter softly, an awkward half-smirk finding your lips.

His eyes sweep over your face, taking his time to properly inspect each feature–eyes, nose, lips. This might be the first time you’ve been this close. In numerous ways.

You watch as his hand raises slowly to your face. Time is nothing but a unique concept understood only by the ones who crafted it. Slowly, gently, the pad of his thumb swipes away black product from your under-eye. It’s as if the slope of your cheek was sculpted for the purpose of slipping into place with the other half—him. Perhaps one lump of clay formed both of you. Those thoughts are redundant, anyway. Why not let them overtake you, even if only for a moment?

But the thought that still plagues you is if anything happened last night.

“What… uh… happened last night?” you ask shakily.

Spencer’s brows draw together. And his hand drops, cheeks pink. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, a frown haunting your lips.

His teeth dig into his lower lip so hard you think it could pierce the velvet skin.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, making you look like the closest thing to a fish out of water. But then you manage, in a high pitched mumble, “did we sleep together?”

Based solely on the comical widening of his eyes, you presume no. And you now want to curl up in a ball and roll under the nearest rock and set up camp for life.

His head profusely, insistently, shakes. “No, no, no! I would never– uh– you were intoxicated, I wouldn’t—”

“Okay!” you squeak, lips pressed into a thin line. That rock is starting to sound really homey.

He nods, his awkward smile mimicking yours. He clears his throat like he remembers something, and then walks to the side of his bed—the one you slept on. He leans down and picks up a pair of black Mary Jane flats. Yours.

He brings them to you and places them in your unsturdy hands. Your eyes meet and, frankly, you have to force yourself to look away. “Thank you,” you say to the floor.

You feel him nod.

With a lift of your head and the flats, you bid him farewell with a small smile.

And then you’re sneaking past Garcia, shoes dangling from your hand and eyeliner smudged.

A total cliché.

#build a fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x self insert

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formulaonecrumbs · 2 days ago

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we miss you 😕

dad!Lando Norris x mom!reader

summary: charlie, their 5yo son, didn’t want lando to leave for race week. though, he manages to sneakily message him from your phone

warnings: possibility of getting baby fever (i did)

A/N: i have such bad baby fever it’s crazy. i’ve literally wanted a kid since i was 12 so this fic is just feeding my delusions (when r they not) anyways i hope u enjoy! love u, sweethearts ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the night before he left, charlie wouldn’t let go of his leg.

lando was standing in the hallway with his suitcase, trying to zip it up while charlie clung to him like a koala, arms tight around his thigh and face squished into the side of his leg.

“mate,” lando laughed, running a hand through his hair, “i need that leg. i kinda use it for walking.”

charlie didn’t budge. he mumbled something that sounded like don’t go into the fabric of lando’s sweatpants.

you were standing nearby with your arms crossed, trying not to melt at the sight. “he’s been like this all day,” you said softly. “he even asked if we could hide your passport.”

lando looked down at the little bundle of clinginess stuck to him and sighed. “charlie,” he said gently, crouching down. “come here, buddy.”

charlie let go just enough for lando to scoop him up and hold him close. he wrapped his arms around lando’s neck immediately, sniffing into his hoodie.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he mumbled. “i missed you all the christmas time and now you’re gonna be gone again.”

lando pressed a kiss into his curls. “i know. i missed you too. but i’m only going for a few days. i’ll call every night. and guess what?”

charlie blinked at him, lip wobbling.

“i’m gonna bring you back something super cool from the paddock. like… something very secret and race-car-ish.”

charlie considered this. “like a tire?”

lando grinned. “okay, maybe not that big. but something cooler.”

they stayed like that for a while. you were the one who eventually had to say, “lando, the car’s outside.”

he hugged you tightly at the door, whispered something about texting when he landed and to kiss charlie for him if he’s asleep by the time you get back inside.

but charlie wasn’t asleep. not really. you found him sitting on your bed with your phone in his lap and the most innocent expression ever.

“baby,” you said. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he said way too fast, quickly locking the screen and holding the phone out to you.

suspicious. but you didn’t think much of it.

it wasn’t until later, after you were in the kitchen and finally checking your phone, that you saw it.

today at 7:41 pm

hi dady

i miss u r u in the plane yet

how meny sleeps til u come home

can u tel the car go fast so u win n come bak

do u have snak

i am waring ur hoody mummie

said its to big but i like it

i put ur hat on my bear

read at 7:45 pm ✔︎✔︎

hey buddy

i’m on the plane now

i miss you so much already

you’re wearing my hoodie??

you’re the coolest kid ever. make sure mummy takes a picture, ok?

ok but she dosnt no i took her fone

pls dont tel her

your secret’s safe with me

but maybe give it back before she finds out

also can we hav pankakes when u come home

pancakes and a race car story. deal?

read at 7:56 pm ✔︎✔︎

later that night (before you’d checked your phone), when you went to tuck charlie into bed, he was already curled up in lando’s hoodie with your phone under his pillow.

you sighed, smiling, and gently took it out.

you texted lando yourself before heading to bed.

today at 10:34 pm

charlie hijacked my phone

obviously

but he misses you. a lot.

we both do.

i miss you guys more than anything

already counting the sleeps

kiss him goodnight for me ♥︎ liked by you

and save me a spot in bed for when i’m back

♥︎ liked by you

read at 10:41 pm ✔︎✔︎

you held the phone to your chest for a second before turning off the light.

three more sleeps.

THE END :>

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oceantornadoo · 3 days ago

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idiots doctors in love

dr. michael robinavitch x resident f!reader

smut. oblivious reader. down bad robby. jazz obssessions.

based on the vibe of the music robby was listening to in ep1 and 15, i headcanon he's a jazz man. SORRY NOT SORRY.

"what do you mean you can't go?"

you frown at dr. mohan, your pain-in-the-ass best R3 friend who's currently breaking your heart. "you're telling me you'd rather stay here than go out?" you gesture to the ER, workers fluttering around as day shift turns to night. out of the corner of your eye you catch a head of almost-silver hair and smirk. "so that's why you want to stay?" she finds the man in your line of sight and immediately shakes her head. samira unclips her clip, shakes her head, and reclips it -- something she never does in the ER. it's a sure sign of her crush on dr. abbot, even if she won't admit it.

"it's not even a crazy club, samira." you hook your arm through hers and drag her away from the board that she was scanning with a single-minded ferocity. "it's r&b night at this new jazz club. we can sit and still have fun! you don't even need to wear heels." she's already dragging you back to the board and shaking her head. "i came in late today. i need to finish my 12 hours." by late, she means the two hours she spent throwing up from food poisoning. even robby told her she could go home and here she is, staying. "fine. but you better text me, i expect you to leave here by 9pm sharp. no more than what you were supposed to work." you squeeze her arm and only let go when she smiles at you. what a liar. you know she'll work way into the night. "sure thing, mom. i'll text you what i eat and when i go to bed, too." she shoots back, smiling. you nudge her side before locating your water bottle and gathering yourself, mentally, to leave the chart board. "i expect nothing less. see you sunday!"

when you turn, your water bottle smacks into your attending.

"shit, i'm sorry." you look up and there he is, crow's feet crinkling as he smiles. rounded black eyeglasses compliment the black ipad he holds, likely updating someone's chart before you whacked his hand with your sturdy bottle. "what's that thing made of?" he lowers his head like he's examining the pink steel of your bottle, and it's hard not to feel giddy under his full attention. stupid, stupid crush.

"confidential weapon materials. it's indestructible." you grin as he shakes his head, clearly done with your antics. "get out of here, doctor. there's only room for so many dad jokes." you roll your eyes, untwisting the cap of your water bottle and drinking just so you can have a few more seconds with him before you really have to go. today was one of those days where you still feel human when you leave work -- no soul-crushing experiences. you're sure one will come on your sunday shift, but the rest of friday night and all of saturday scream freedom to you. a drop of water escapes your mouth and trails down from the corner of your lips to your chin. a lapse in control, something you usually have in spades, but never around robby. how embarrassing, not being able to drink water with more etiquette than a child-

a warm finger brushes the skin of your chin, wiping away the droplet.

you lock eyes. his are brown and a little out of it, his nose flaring and immediately condensing when he retracts his hand. he tucks it in his cargo pants and it's like you've imagined the whole thing.

must be ER-induced delirium.

"any weekend plans, robby?" absolute insane, to ask that question after you just displayed your lack-of-drinking skills. fortunately, all robby does is shake his head. his veiny hand swipes his glasses off his face and tucks them in the front chest pocket of his scrubs. unfortunately, the fluidity of it does a lot for you. must be the competency? "don't call me old, but the record store i like is having a sale on all their duke ellington records tomorrow. might stop by, pretend i have a life." he laughs in that self-deprecating way of his, like he's embarrassed to admit he's human and not just an attending.

your heart melts.

"i love jazz." you murmur, a little self-consciously, as you set your eyes on his stethoscope instead of his face. "i know." you pick your head up immediately, brows furrowed. when did you tell him that? "i mean, i heard you talking to dr. mohan." he clarifies. you nod, a kernel of hope growing when you realize he was eavesdropping. maybe this obsession is more than one-sided. maybe.

"you goin' to that thing you mentioned?" he asks, rolling his shoulders and looking away before looking back at you. "maybe. samira, i mean, dr. mohan can't go, so i might see if my roommate wants to go. she's really into rock though, like die-hard metal fan, so i'm not too sure if she'll want to..." you trail off, a bit saddened. you do want to go, and if it was daytime you would, it's just being alone at night in the city can still be scary. especially after a long shift, even if you're sober. your senses are dulled, worn out from all-day usage. the idea of a long bath and playing a favorite playlist sounds equally appealing and way less work.

"i'm free."

you gape at him, then quickly recover before he can notice how wide open your mouth is. "really?" he looks shocked at himself for even offering, so all he does at first is nod. robby looks off-kilter, far from the confident attending you've spent your last two years with. "you don't have anyone- i mean, any plans tonight? i don't want to take up too much of your time, it starts at 8:30 and it'll probably be at least an hour, maybe two." he barks out a laugh, swiping a hand down his face before answering. "no one's waiting on me. plus, i'm not that old, doctor. my bedtime is 12 anyway." he winks, recovered from whatever shock he was experiencing. you laugh, covering it with your hand before it becomes a full-force giggle. he's not even that funny, but he's just so endearing with those soulful brown eyes and terrible humor and warmth. on hour 12 of your shift, you simply can't take it.

"let me talk to dr. abbot and then i can walk out with you. it's kind of a speakesy so there's this password and this back door and," you realize you're waving your hands around, priming him for another water bottle attack, and quickly fix them to your sides, "and, i'll be right back. don't take another case or i'll go without you." his eyebrows crinkle a little at your mention of dr. abbot but you write it off as tiredness. he nods his affirmation and you bolt through the ER, desperate to finally get out of here.

"dr. abbot!" thankfully he's charting and not gut-deep in a poor patient. he looks up and nods you over, clearly expecting an interesting case. "i need you to do me a favor. dr. mohan is abandoning our jazz club plans to work her full shift and i need you to promise me she leaves here by 9pm. she already had food poisoning this morning, she does not need to work longer than necessary." he's smiling by the end of your demand, clearly amused than angry you're making demands. "you'll make a perfect chief resident, doctor. she won't be here past 9 or i'll walk her out myself." that's what you're hoping for, but you don't mention that. "sorry about your plans." he adds. you shrug, rocking back on your feet as you try not to give away your excitement. "it's okay. robby's coming, of all people."

an odd thing happens to the attending you thought was unflappable. he looks past your shoulder, clearly searching for robby, before quickly pulling back to look you up and down. his mouth opens slightly, then closes shut immediately. "fucking finally." he mutters under his breath, underestimating how good your hearing is. "sorry?" you ask, a little off guard. he shakes his head, resetting. "nothing. have a good night, doctor. have fun." when has he ever told you to have fun? you nod, extremely confused with whatever oddness has affected the Pitt attendings. you wish him a goodnight and beeline back to Robby, who's trying not to involve himself in two GSW's that just burst through the doors.

it's intimate, walking out with him. he holds the door for you but with his hand up high, making you almost duck under it to exit. you talk all the way to the parking lot, only realizing he doesn't even drive when you arrive at your car. you explain how to get into the club, the password being "April 29th" for the NYC Duke Ellington Day in 2009. he takes all of it in stride, nodding precisely at the right points like he's actually listening. "you need a ride home?" you offer, hoping he says no. this past hour has been too much of a whirlwind and you need a moment to contemplate, but the people pleaser in you demands hospitality. thankfully, he shakes his head. "i like walking home. not too far and clears the head." you nod, completely understanding. usually when you drive home, you keep the windows down and the music low to decompress. unsurprisingly, it's jazz or more modern r&b that clears your head.

"i'll see you there, then. text me if something comes up or you'll be late." you tack on, trying not to seem desperate. not to seem like this is a date, of course, which it is not. he's just being friendly, eavesdropping on your personal conversations and connecting over hobbies and offering his time outside of work when he could be, for one, sleeping. "i'll see you at 8:30, doctor."

you splurge for a cab, figuring the moment allows for it. plus, your feet ache from hours on your feet and the kitten heels you're wearing don't exactly help. after paying the fee, you step out onto the sidewalk and smooth out the creases in the dress you chose. it's the original outfit you were going to wear: a little black dress that hits above the knee paired with black heels that have bows on them, a small purse around your shoulder. except, you did your makeup instead of going bare face like you originally would've. it's armor to face multiple hours with the man you've been crushing on for months. sure, you've shared beer in parks and much-needed coffee on the roof, but nothing outside of the confines of work. nothing like how he looks now, waving at you awkwardly as he walks down the street in dark pants and a button-down paired with a jacket to stave off the chill. it shocks you for a second -- the first time you've seen him out of his scrubs. he comes to stand in front of you and beams a little, his cheeks pulling up. he's more relaxed without the weight of the ER on him and you yearn to see him like this a thousand times more.

"hi."

you stare for a second before reminding yourself that you are not a teenager and can have adult conversations. except this is your boss, a fact you keep forgetting. "i honestly imagined you showing up in scrubs." you tease, gesturing at him to follow as you make your way to the entrance. he chuckles, a low tone that hits like a shower after a long shift, needed and soothing. "i like your dress, too, doctor." he replies. your skin heats at his compliment, glad you're not facing his direction. you wander through the side hallway that accompanies the front of the restaurant, pausing a little before the secret door. before you approach, you turn to him. "you don't have to call me doctor, robby." you remind him, tilting your head a little. he takes the moment to scan the length of your dress, the sheer tights that feed into your heels, before landing back on your face and saying your name. your first name.

it's the first time he's said it, you think. like a shock of epi to the veins, waking you up. his eyes darken and it must be a trick of the light, but you see his pupils expand. you grin shyly before turning and approaching the door. a gold-embossed slit in the door slides open and a pair of blue eyes blink at you. "password?" there's a sudden presence behind you as robby hovers, a touch away from your back. not the closest he's ever stood but you feel practically naked without your scrubs, like he's seeing your bare skin. "april 29th." you supply, clearing your throat as you remind yourself he's just being courteous.

the door swings open and you stifle a gasp. it's all mahagony wood and low lights, candles on every table with velvet-covered chairs and clinking bar glasses. an acoustic version of a leon bridges song plays as you make your way inside, robby only a step behind you. "isn't it pretty?" you turn your face up and there he is, staring down at you. "very pretty." he refers to the room, but his eyes stay on you, warm pools of chocolate in the lamplight. you find a table far enough away from the band where you can talk, even though your tongue is currently tied. robby murmurs something about getting drinks and you sit gladly, your feet straining from being put through even more walking. you set your purse on the table and close your eyes, letting your body finally relax as you take in the music. your head sways a little, the rhythm soothing you after another long-but-worth-it day in medicine.

"i wasn't sure what you wanted, so i got the specialty drink they were serving." he sets down what looks like a fancy dirty shirley with edible gold glitter swirling around. it catches the light and reminds you of the gold flecks in robby's eyes, illuminated by the candles. he sits down in the chair next to you, the table small enough for your knees to brush as you both face the stage. neither of you pulls away.

"they must have upcharged an extra $10 for the glitter." you take a sip and close your eyes, loving the fruitiness. a look left reveals his own drink, dark liquid in a glass tumbler. "part of the experience." he shrugs, nudging you with his knee. "plus, i know mohan wouldn't comp your drinks like i will." you giggle at that, keeping it at a low volume as the band continues. you take another sip for courage before putting the glass back down. "thank you, robby. for the drink and for coming." he takes a sip of his drink and sets it down. the table must be too small or his eyes really that bad, because he sets it so close to you that your knuckles brush. these accidental touches keep sending ill-advised sparks to your core, making you shift in your spot and press your thighs together.

when you gather the courage to look in his eyes, they seem to be on your thighs. a trick of the light, as they flick up and catch yours, no apology on his lips. "i wanted to-"

"hello everyone!" the saxophone player has the mic, greeting everyone with a bright smile. "thank you for coming to our little gathering tonight. it'll be a mix of jazz, r&b, and anything that sits right in the soul. we've got our singer coming on in about an hour but for now, enjoy the music." the bassist plucks a few strings and they start, launching into a louis armstrong song.

it's something close to peace that you feel. taking in the music silently, robby closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. you make small talk occasionally, learning more about him than you ever knew. how he used to live in chicago, how he's the older sibling of a much younger brother and sister off doing Great Things. you tell him about your favorite bagel spot that you stop by when you have the time and how sometimes, you think your roommate might hate you and not actually tolerate your late-night taco cravings. it's addicting, every smile he gives you, each one more endearing than the one before it. you like that he barely drinks, only sipping after a long conversation. you want to remember this, so you let your drink slowly lessen but don't ask for a second.

his knee stays against yours the whole time, a tender anchor to the moment.

after an hour, the singer graces the stage. her voice is raspy and low, perfect for the songs she picks. "these next few are perfect slow songs, in my opinion. and would you look at that, we've got some empty room on the dance floor." she launches into an etta james song about sundays and you can't help but gather your courage. "dance with me? if your feet aren't too tired, of course." you add, suddenly worried you overstepped. he shakes his head, stepping out of his seat and gesturing you forward. when you look back, you watch robby tuck your purse under his coat and your heart aches. just a little.

at first, you feel like a kid at her first dance. there's too much space between you, his hand so high on your back that it almost reaches your neck. it's hard to move together this far apart, so you take a deep breath and step closer. "this okay?" you whisper, face inches from his. he nods a little sharply, but steps closer until your cheek is flush to his chest. "it's perfect." you smile to yourself and lose yourself to the music.

as more people join the dance floor, robby pulls you snug to his chest. "having fun?" he asks, lips grazing your ear. his hand slides lower, still on the small of your back. it's the most you've ever touched him, felt the woodsy scent of his cologne and the hardness of his torso. "yeah." you mumble, drunk on the music and his presence. he seems to understand, tucking your head under his chin as you sway, his other hand tightening in yours as you grip his shoulder lightly. the singer croons about love and loss and you feel it, right under you.

after a few more songs, the band takes a break. when you pull back from robby, something has changed. he has to have felt this pull in your chest, the one tethered to your heart strings. "take a break with me?" you nod to the quiet hallway that leads to the bathrooms, perfect for a break from the crowd. he follows you loyally, hand hovering at your back as you walk down the hall. voices fall away until it's just you two in some alcove between the bar and the bathroom.

he puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. you take a deep breath and one step forward.

"robby."

his eyes squint when you don't follow with a question and widen when he realizes what you're asking, or not asking.

robby swipes a hand down his face before it falls to his side, tapping the top of his thigh. "we can't." he reasons. your toes touch his shoes, shiny ones you didn't even imagine him owning. "says who?" you murmur, standing your ground. both of his hands are at his sides now, flexing and unflexing. if he wasn't wearing long-sleeves, you'd be tracing the veins. "the pittsburg medical board. gloria." he answers, not doing anything to move from where you stand. this time, it's him who straightens, bringing him closer to your heaving chest.

"i'm not going to tell them." you murmur. there's an instant sense of a mistake as he leans back into the wall. "it's not like that for me. it's- i'm not a casual person." the confession is more than you were hoping for, a long-forgotten dream that lay buried in your heart. "it's not like that for me either, robby. i really liked tonight. i want to do it again."

strong, capable hands cup your face. his thumbs swipe under your eyes, probably ruining your makeup, as he tilts you into his eyesight. "you have no fucking idea how long i've waited for this." he confirms, the tips of his fingers brushing your jaw. "really?" you plead, off-kilter from his sudden admission. "since you found me on that roof, still soaked in blood from two child GSW's." a year and a half ago. your heart pounds and you smile.

"can't deny you anything when you look like that." you're not entirely sure what he means -- when you're covered in blood or when you're in this dress? doesn't matter.

"won't you kiss me, then?"

and he does.

robby kisses like a man possessed. his hands on your face stay there, keeping you open even as you gasp into his mouth. it's not sloppy but toes the line as he keeps himself restrained, only allowing his tongue to peek out when you moan in delight. robby leaves little bites and licks with every sound you make, letting you melt into his arms with your arms around his shoulders.

"i don't want our first time to be tonight. i want to do it right." he demands into the wet heat of your mouth, covering the burn of his words with a solid kiss. you agree but still hitch your leg up around his waist as far as your dress will allow. "these fucking tights." he nips your jaw and you giggle, melding yourself further into him. "c'mere."

you lead him to a one room bathroom, locking the door behind you. instead of the perfectly good countertop, he corners you against the wall, hands sliding up and under your dress. "this okay?" he asks and you whine, pushing your hips further into his grasp. your dress gathers at your waist as he finds the band of your tights digging into your skin. "you gonna let me taste?" you nod, practically begging.

he yanks down your tights and you ignore the sure sound of them ripping, glad they were a sale purchase. "i'll buy you new ones." he promises your inner thighs, kissing gently upwards. with your demolished tights, you're able to swing one leg over his shoulder as he lowers himself onto his knees. you've been wet all night from his touches and it doesn't surprise you when he has to peel your lace underwear off, slick clinging in strings as he works them to the side.

"so wet for me. i know, baby, i know." he hums as you whine impatiently, moving forward until his words land on your empty cunt. he works you like an expert, splitting your folds open as he licks a stripe up and down. almost all the way down.

robby isn't like the college boys who treated this like a task. he lavishes you with kisses, small sucks to your clit that end when you start bucking. the tip of his tongue teases your hole but doesn't go in, seemlingly leaving it for another time. his nose, that strong nose you always catch yourself admiring, presses against your clit and you jolt from the pleasure of it. you fuck yourself a bit on it, encouraged by his moan that pulses through your core. the friction switches between his nose and his tongue and you can't get enough, that tell-tale pressure building in your lower stomach.

"robby, i'm close." you admit, gasping when he sucks your clit even harder. waves build and tense in your core as you chase the feeling, moving your hips without thought. "c'mon, honey. come." he mumbles, muffled by your thighs. like you do everyday in the ER, you follow his command, moaning as you tense and flutter around him. he guides you through it with sloppy licks until you're pushing him away, overstimulation creeping over your shoulders.

his beard is sopping with your slick, something he doesn't seem to care about as he emerges after fixing your underwear. deft fingers guide your feet out and into your heels as he fully frees you of the ripped tights, little brushes to your ankle bone going straight to your heart. it's only after he throws away your tights does he stand, eyes glittering.

you look down at his cock clearly straining against his trousers. when you reach for it, his hand stops you, stroking the soft skin of your wrist. "tonight's not about me." one part of you is disappointed but the other is dreadfully tired, needing rest after all of this excitement. "thank you, robby." you say, unsure of how to feel the silence. his hands grip your waist and he kisses your forehead before he pulls back, thumb swiping over your bitten lips. "call me michael, honey. you want to stay or you done for the night?" you shake your head instantly, exhaustion deep in your bones. "take me home, michael."

when you wake in the late morning, he's still in your bed. if he hadn't been, you would have thought last night was a jazz-induced dream. instead, he's murmuring to someone on the phone sternly. your eyes trace his bare chest down to his boxers, the same chest you fell asleep against last night. you lay a hand on his chest and he covers it with his own, seemingly done with his phone call. "who was that?" you ask, too curious to hold back. "HR." he grins. "haven't even asked me out properly and you're already calling HR." you grumble, inching closer until he gathers you in his arms, kissing the top of your nose.

"will you go out with me, doctor?"

writing this was a fever dream.

if you haven't seen noah wyle dressed up, i highly encourage you to.

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #female reader #the pitt spoilers #the pitt x reader #dr robby x reader #tornadothoughts #the pitt episode 14 #the pitt finale

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lol-im-done · 3 days ago

Text

Overactive Empathy

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A story of an ex-army doctor still haunted by his past who strives to maintain control of his emotions and a nurse with a sixth sense for the emotions of others that everyone has come to rely on- will a traumatic event force them to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?

Tags/Warnings: age gap, yearning, too scared to admit they're in love, empath!reader, angst, panic attacks, comfort, descriptions of blood and pittfest, trauma, happy ending

Word Count: 4.3K & AO3 link

Author’s Note: This may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I could not stop thinking about writing this. I also have absolutely no medical knowledge so enjoy!

The Pitt - Night Shift

The faint beeping of monitors and clicks of the keyboard mesh with the sounds of patients and staff. The fluorescent lights aren’t the only thing landing on your skin, you feel his stare from chairs away. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, quite the opposite, it sends a warm feeling rushing through you and when you peek up you catch sight of his silver curls twinkling in the light.

Dr. Jack Abbott can’t help it, after two years of working alongside you he doesn’t get tired of tracing the slope of your nose or watching the way you bite your lip in concentration. He stopped trying to be discreet a long time ago even after repeatedly being caught by Dr. Robby or Dr. Ellis. You’re both snapped out of your thoughts by the sirens approaching the ambulance bay. By the time the EMTs enter the Pitt you’re standing next to Jack at the ready.

“Man in his late sixties- disoriented and aggressive. He was distributing patrons outside of a nightclub and eventually someone knocked him down,” the EMT summarized as they wheeled in the man who was strapped down to the gurney. He wasn’t saying anything comprehensible, only letting out grunts as he attempted to free himself.

“Psych eval?” Jack tilts his head.

“Yup, no ID or other identification found with him. Probably homeless and off his meds,” the EMT replied.

“Give me a moment with him,” you step forward, not entirely convinced. Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the patient who began to twist in his restraints again. Unease grows in his gut but he learned a long time ago not to question you.

“Don’t get too close to him yet, we may need sedation.”

He stands at the door watching the interaction closely, his body taut in preparation to intervene. The soldier inside him never left him, those instincts embedded into his bones.

Slowly you approach the older man, quietly assessing him. Jack watches your hand hover over the patient’s arm for a moment, but what you do is still a mystery to him.

Eventually it becomes clear to you what he needs. “You must be very tired and thirsty. It’s been a long day,” you murmur softly. This made the man go still, eyes widening as he nodded urgently. He was mute, everything he wanted to say stuck inside him at this moment but his emotions were clear.

“We’re here to help you,” you give him a reassuring smile as you back away towards the door. The moment you turn, you’re face to face with Jack. You force yourself to stay concentrated on your task and not on Jack’s handsome features. “He’s not homeless, he feels lost and he misses home. He’s also extremely thirsty, so he’s dehydrated which is why he was disoriented and acting out. He wasn’t able to ask for help because he’s mute,” you explain.

“Not a Psych case then,” he concurs, impressed once more.

“The usual tests will let us know how dehydrated he is and if there’s other underlying causes. This is a case for the night shift social worker to help with, they just need to find out who he is and where he lives. I think he has family,” you reach for the IV kit.

“Thanks Sherlock Holmes.”

There’s no malice or sarcasm in his tone, just his usual dry wit which you’ve come to love. You can see the wheels turning in his head and although he’s never asked questions, you know he keeps trying to figure out how you’re so good at reading patients.

Intuition, your grandmother winked at you one day when you asked if she had what you had. A curse, your mother declared before she had left for good, not able to handle what she was born with. Overactive empathy was what you had come to call it. It had been overwhelming at first, discovering that as you got in close proximity to someone you could identify their emotions and feel them yourself, all of them. It took many years to build up your control to a point where you felt you could be around people. Out of nursing school you spent your first few years in hospice care, holding the hand of those making their way out of this world, watching the hazy colors around them fade into nothing. Soon the time came to try something new and you found yourself standing in the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Emergency Department, hoping to make a difference and make use of your ability in a new way.

It was an open secret, the little trick you had up your sleeve. No one put a specific label on it and on one questioned it. Anytime you interacted with a patient who needed that extra level of support, with a simple glance or press of your hand to their shoulder you seemed to read their emotions to a tee. It had also helped de-escalate potentially dangerous situations, preventing many fights in the halls of the Pitt. In this world, it was all about the patient and being able to read them was an asset. Their feelings and experiences are half of the story when they walk in through the doors.

Grabbing your backpack from your locker you take your time walking back to the nursing station to clock out. It gives you time to admire Jack who stands at the counter, his blue eyes flickering across the screen. Dr. Abbot - the broody, stalwart and incredibly selfless man who captured your heart. Not that you would ever admit it, you were years younger and convinced he could do much better. What catches your attention is his posture, he’s leaning heavily against the counter hoping no one can notice his discomfort.

“Is it bothering you again?” you whisper as you stand next to him. Jack grimaces as he flexes the prosthetic foot under his khakis, internally kicking himself for showing a trace of weakness.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grits out.

“Liar,” you muse, swiping your badge to clock out for the night.

His face turns stoic as he stares you down, intimidating as hell to others but not to you. You stare right back, waiting until one of you inevitably cracks. His dimples pop out as he lets out a hearty laugh. Several people send you curious looks, an Abbot laugh was rare.

“It's not fair if you use that trick on me,” he pretends to sound mad. Not that you would ever intentionally violate his privacy by delving further than his surface area emotions.

“It’s not like I can read minds.”

“It’s close enough.”

“I don’t have to use anything on you Abbot. It's clear as day.”

He feels that familiar swoop in his stomach at your words, forcing himself to not say anything stupid.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here, just in case you pick up another shift,” you tease, finally starting to walk away. He winks at you and you feel like you’re floating on clouds all the way home.

The Pitt - Day Shift

Today was a never ending roller coaster and it was going to give you whiplash. Angry patients, argumentative family members, interpersonal drama, fucking rats. Then Dana had gotten punched, which had rattled all of the nurses. It had brought you to tears seeing her bruised face and bloody nose, your mentor and dear friend. She had shushed you in a motherly fashion, assuring you and everyone else she would live long enough to finish the shift as long as she had another cigarette.

It was also the first day for new residents and medical students, another layer to the never ending day. You took it in stride as always offering helpful advice and keeping an eye on them for Robby making sure they didn’t mess up too badly. Some had already latched onto you, King and Whittaker frequently asking you to join them on patient care.

You could immediately sense that today was an off day for Robby, as you assisted with his difficult cases you could see the strain behind his eyes and his increasing use of the word fuck. He also kept asking you about what the patients were feeling long after they had died. It wasn’t a good sign.

“Is he asking you about dead people again?” Dana hands you a cup of tea. You nod.

“Christ Almighty he’s a morbid one,” she shakes her head with a sad smile. “Wish Collins hadn’t left early, she knows how to get him back on track.”

....

“Do you think he feels anything? Even if he’s brain dead?” Robby asked you as you stood side by side, about to enter to give the parents of the overdose victim the final verdict on their son.

“No...he doesn’t feel anything. There’s nothing,” you replied truthfully.

“What do you think she felt while she drowned?” he asked as they wheeled the young girl's body out of the trauma room. You think back to when you had held onto her tiny cold hand as they worked to bring her back.

“She felt scared and exhausted but she also felt certain. Certain that she had saved her sister.”

Robby finds comfort in your candidness to his morbid questions, you’ve always been honest with him and a shoulder for him to lean on. He knew he was being extra hard on you today and he would apologize with your favorite snack by the end of the shift.

None of this compared to what came next.

“What’s going on?” you can feel the anxiety spike in the room as phones and pagers go off. Gloria is talking to Robby and Dana on the side in a serious manner, their faces pinching with worry. Shooting, Pittfest, mass casualties, are words that fill the air. It seems to suck the oxygen out of the room, a sobering reminder of the world you lived in. Taking a deep breath you steady your nerves as instructions are being shared to the whole team. Suddenly a familiar warmth settles next to you, calloused hands brushing against yours.

“You okay?” Jack asks quietly.

“I’m fine...but all of those people that are going to come in-,” you shudder at the thought.

“You don’t have to, you know, get too close to them if it gets too much,” he finally faces you as people start to rush around you. With his eyes trained on you it feels like you’re both in your own world for a moment.

“I know, but I want to help them. Anyway I can,” you reply, eyes filling with determination. It reminds him why he does this job, why he comes back.

Reality breaks apart your bubble as Dana calls out your name and Robby pulls Jack towards the team of doctors. Everything after that is a whirlwind, a mass casualty event hitting an already understaffed ED like a hurricane. Every ounce of training is in use as you work tirelessly alongside your colleagues to save every life that passed through those doors. It soon becomes clear there's not enough blood, medications or supplies. Only sheer willpower will get you all through this.

“Everyone please use the sedatives and morphine sparingly! More is coming but it's minutes out!” Dana shouted from the nurses station.

Following her announcement, a flurry of movement caught your attention in the Red Zone. The patient was thrashing on the gurney, arms flying around wildly as she shouted in pain, begging them to stop from pressing against her broken legs. Without hesitation you rushed over, hands slipping into the fray until they pressed against the woman’s face. Jack watched as you brought your head closely against hers, eyes scrunching tightly in concentration.

“You feel tired, so tired,” you repeated softly over and over again.

Slowly her shouts became nothing but disgruntled murmurs, her eyes closing and arms falling sluggishly at her side. No one else seemed to notice what you had done, preoccupied with her impending blood loss and shattered bones. Jack could do nothing more than send you a grateful nod before you slipped away once more to assist on the next patient.

Unfortunately she had not been the last patient you had helped calm down, dozens more streamed into the Pitt in various states of emotional distress and you did your best to keep them from overwhelming the rest of the staff. It was starting to wear you down, drain your energy reserves as you still ran from zone to zone, arms full of supplies and bags of blood. Dry blood mixed with your sweat caked your arms, and your lungs burned from the smell of antiseptic and alcohol in the air. Give me strength, you begged the universe.

You had been standing by the ambulance bay doors, replenishing supplies for the Red Zone when another wave of gurneys and patients flooded in once more. You hadn’t even had a chance to set down the IV bags in your hands when a tall man stumbled straight into your body. Blood stained hands clasped onto your shoulders with such force you could feel the bruises start to form. His eyes were wild and he kept repeating someone's name over and over. Time seemed to slow around you as his emotions flowed into your body like a dam had broken- hair raising panic, paralyzing fear, and pain that brought you to your knees. Your vision swam, all you could see now was bodies piled upon each other and hear the cries of those hit by the spray of bullets. A high pitched ringing filled your ears and your throat was suddenly raw.

Your ear splitting screams snapped Jack out of his concentration, his heart lurching at the scene before him. He barely had time to make sure Dr. Mohan had a handle on the patient before he was running full speed towards you, Robby at his side. The man was ripped away from you by Robby and one of the security guards who wrangled him onto a gurney. All you could do was cover your eyes as if that would stop the horrific visions in your head.

“Look at me, you gotta breathe (Y/N),” Jack begged as he stood in front of you, hands hovering over your shoulders not wanting to make it worse. His heart was beating a million miles per minute and he felt as if he was staring in the mirror, the traumatized medic in the throes of a panic attack staring back at him. Except now it was you.

You shook your head, stumbling backwards blindly into the wall. There was only one option he could think of at that moment. Without missing a beat, Jack grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you over his shoulder as you let out another desperate cry. The whole Pitt had frozen, shocked at the turn of events.

“Get back to work dammit!” Jack roared, making everyone flinch as they rushed to return back to the task at hand, averting their eyes.

In a few strides he made it to the end of the wing and into the empty on-call bathroom, slamming the door behind him with his foot. By this point you had gone limp over his shoulder, letting out the occasional whimper. He set you down lightly onto the shower floor, hand reaching up to the shower knob.

“I’m sorry baby but it will help I promise,” Jack couldn’t stop the term of endearment from slipping out.

You seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance, another agonizing scream slipping past your lips as you hunched over. Suddenly ice cold water flowed from the shower head hitting your body in a forceful gush. A high pitched gasp filled the air as your eyes flew open from the shock. Shivering hands immediately reached out to find Jack’s arms, needing something to ground you as the temperature of the water numbed your frayed nerves.

“Jack.”

“You’re safe, you’re in the bathroom now. You’re not there,” he assured you, hand smoothing your drenched hair out of your face. Tears swam in your eyes and you nodded numbly, trying to reorient yourself. His hand settled on your cheek, watching the water pour down your red cheeks. Even now, he thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He was only a few short seconds away from climbing into the shower with you when the door squeaked open.

“Dr. Abbot, they need you out there,” Princess frowns as she takes in your state. He gives her his harshest stare, about to protest but you push his arms weakly.

“Go,” you say. “Princess and I will handle it from here,” you look up at her. She gives a nod of affirmation.

“I’ll get her cleaned up, Dr. Abbot,” she promises, reaching for towels.

I need to stay with you and protect you, he wants to say to you. I can’t live another moment without you.

So many unsaid words stuck in his throat. Jack wishes you would just look into him and decipher his emotions so he wouldn’t have to say them out loud. It wasn’t the right time, it never was. He couldn’t stand risking everything you had just to lose you if you didn’t feel the same way. Instead of staying as his heart begged him to, he stands, ignoring the pain in his leg as he walks out without a word feeling like a coward.

Your heart squeezes painfully as you watch Jack go but you can’t stop him. By the time Princess helps you change into clean scrubs it feels like hours have passed. She stays silent the whole time, giving you space as you rebuild the mental blocks in your head. Eventually you walk out onto the floor which is still wet with blood, doctors and nurses running to and fro with urgency. Sirens blare in the distance without stopping. Smoothing your hands over your new scrubs you hoped you looked better than you felt.

“Go home,” Robby’s baritone voice is the first thing you hear.

“I don’t believe you can send me home Dr. Robby,” you glance up at him. He looks absolutely wrecked, likely the same as you.

“Dana-,” he turns to Dana who is by your side next. Dana knows you well, knows you wouldn't be standing here if you couldn’t handle it.

“I can’t force her to leave Robby. Trust that she knows her own limits,” Dana squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back in thanks. “We still have patients to help, let’s go kiddo,” she guides you back into the disaster zone, arm over your shoulder.

It’s when the emergency protocol is finally at an end and the last Pittfest patient is stabilized that you spot Robby again. Robby had been walking on a tight line today, Leah’s death finally pushing him over the edge. You had heard the terrible things Jake had yelled at him moments ago.

“Hard day yeah?”

“For both of us I’d say,” he laughs dryly, tears beginning to leak once again from the corners of his eyes.

“You’ve shouldered the burden of so much today Robby. Let me help you,” you extend your hand to him.

“I can’t do that to you,” he shakes his head, knowing what you’re offering.

“This may be the only time I offer this to you Robby. Trust me,” you say. He shifts uneasily in place before finally making his decision. He takes your hand. The colors around him darken, his frustration, grief, anger and disappointment swirling around him like a storm.

“Go home soon and sleep. It will come easy tonight,” you say. Robby feels a warm sensation run up his arm, filling his chest with a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. The tension in his shoulders visibly eases and he feels like he can properly breathe again. Before he can thank you, you’re gone.

You hand found a quiet space in the supply closet to unwind, taking advantage of the day shift and night shift switching places. Sitting in the dim room you allow the events of the day to wash over you, taking steadying breaths to settle your emotions. Then you would find Jack and hope he didn’t look at you differently like you were something that had been crushed into tiny pieces.

You hadn’t left Jack’s mind since he had left you in the shower, your screams echoing in his mind. Compartmentalizing all of his emotions and stuffing them into the back of his mind was the only thing that kept him sane for the remaining shift. The moment he finally handed off the last patient to Shen and Ellis he was on the lookout for you. Unable to find you yet, Jack makes his way up to the roof as he does after most shifts, muscle memory taking over. He’s not surprised to see Robby staring at the city skyline from the ledge.

“I think I finally understand why I keep coming back now,” Jack calls out to Robby. “It's in our DNA. It's what we do. We can't help it. Not everyone can do it, it takes a special type of person,” he says, thinking of you.

“Maybe you, not me,” Robby shakes his head as he steps back onto the roof.

“What are you talking about?” Jack’s tone is incredulous.

“You know damn well what I'm talking about. I broke. I shut down. At the moment everybody needed me the most, I wasn't there. I couldn't do it. I choked,” Robby hangs his head.

“Don’t say that you broke in there because if that was you breaking apart then that means (Y/N)-,” he stops himself, unable to finish the sentence. “You’re not broken, you’re just human. We all are.”

Robby sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re stronger than you think. She’s stronger than she thinks. Just because you both got overwhelmed today doesn’t mean you’re broken, not even close,” Jack says. “I used to think there was a weakness in feeling too much. Never allowed myself to cry or grieve even when-,” he pauses thinking back to his time after he came back from the army, what had happened to his ex wife and her untimely death years ago.

“This is starting to sound less like a pep talk and more like you need to go find her,” Robby crosses his arms. Jack remains silent, running his hand through his messy curls as he paces back and forth.

“What are you going to do Jack? It’s been months of you pining after her. We all saw it on that karaoke night-.”

“Don’t even,” Jack scowls at the memory which makes Robby laugh for the first time tonight.

You had been singing alongside Dana and McKay, your smile infectious as you swayed your hips to the beat. Jack had scoffed at the idea of karaoke night with the team but seeing you up there, he was entranced by the lights making your skin shimmer, your smudged lipstick and sweet voice. The only thing that snapped him out of it was watching a young guy approach you with a shot and a flirtatious grin. It had taken both Robby and Shen to hold him back, dragging him back to the booth by the scruff of his neck.

There wasn’t anything more to say so they descended back down to reality, one step at a time. By the time he and Robby exit the Pitt doors, there was only one thing on Jack’s mind.

“You gonna grab a beer with us?” Robby asks as they cross the street but he already knows the answer.

“I have to do something first. Something long overdue,” Jack stations himself at the entrance of the park.

“Fucking finally,” Robby claps his shoulder. “Tell her I said goodnight.”

“I heard you’ve been asking her about dead people again, not cool man!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll make an effort to stop that,” Robby throws his hands up before disappearing into the park.

Jack steels himself in place, waiting and praying he hadn’t missed you. His instincts were correct as usual, you soon appeared before him with a tired smile gracing your lips, backpack hanging off your hand. For a moment the only sound is the wind rustling through the trees. Slowly he takes measured steps closer to you, until he can see the small scar on your top lip. You take the moment to admire the freckles that adorn his nose and cheeks. You were nervous seconds ago, but not anymore.

Finally Jack speaks. “You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he whispers, his strong hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I see the woman that I love, who makes me want to live life, not just survive it. I see a woman with the endless capacity to help others, the strongest person I know.”

“I- you saw what happened to me today. It may not always be easy,” your voice is thick with emotion.

“You know me better than anyone, it won’t be easy with me either, but we have each other.”

“That’s all I need - you.”

Lifting yourself on your tiptoes you press your nose to his, your lips hovering over one another. Electricity crackles between you, months of yearning and unspoken tension threatening to break free. His muscular arm wraps around your waist, tethering you to him.

“Come home with me, where you belong.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you whisper.

Then something blooms in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - hope. You can see the fuzzy color around him lighten into a beautiful blue color, like the sky on a sunny day.

“Feel it with me?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting the mental blocks down momentarily. The moments your lips touch bursts of colors fill your mind and you feel it all. His love encompasses you, his hope for the future with you and passion makes your skin tingle.

“I love you Jack Abbot.”

“I love you more."

#jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot imagine #the pitt fanfiction #shawn hatosy #dr. jack abbot

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abbotsanatomy · 1 day ago

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hello!! i love ur writing you’re feeding my abbot addiction <33 could you write a fic with a depressed reader, maybe she had a hard case that hit close to home that ended badly and is really lingering for her, and jack noticed because she’s been more withdrawn and distant for the past few days and he tries to get her to talk about it and she says shes fine then blah blah fast forward shes on yhe roof crying after working a double :) sorry im a fiend for hurt comfort

⨳ PROTECTING THE HIVE

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: (20-ish year) age gap, resident/attending relationship, workplace romance, depictions of depression, mentions of suicidal ideation, kinda medical malpractice (lol), panic attack, allusions to child abuse. author's note: i had no idea what to name this, so here's my attempt at being funny... (also keep the compliments coming, they're feeding my ego <33 mwah)

You used to love your bed. It used to be a huge source of comfort. And sleep. Sleep is a special commodity when you work night shifts at a trauma center.

Now, you hate it. Because whenever you aren't working, you're just lying there. Not even asleep, just staring at the ceiling. Half of the time, you want to get up and be with your hot, older boyfriend.

The other half of the time, your mind is just pulling out the most horrendous memories possible, making you relive them, and wish you were dead. There's a bottle of pills on your nightstand you know would do the trick. You won't let yourself.

People rely on you. Jack relies on you. You save lives every day; you just wish you didn't have to lose so many along the way.

The only place you can escape your own thoughts is the ER. So, you throw yourself into your work. You work twice as hard, for twice as long.

Of course, Jack notices. He can see the most imperceptible changes in your demeanor, so this major shift doesn't exactly fly under his radar.

Be that as it may, you won't tell him any of it. He's a natural worrier. He hovers and he worries. That's just who he is. You're doing him a huge favor, really.

Besides, out of all the things your coping mechanism could be, it's saving lives. Who wouldn't support that?

So, you work yourself to the bone guilt-free. You take on double shifts with a few extra hours sprinkled on top. It's more than tiring, but it also means that when you get home and you're in bed, you pass out. You don't lay there for hours thinking about the kid who died in your ER two weeks ago.

You're careful about it, too. You change your scrubs and chug a cup of that terrible break room coffee before Jack comes in for the night shift.

Tonight's another one of those long, grueling, self-inflicted shifts. You've got a Red Bull in one hand, and a patient's bloodwork in the other. You've assessed labs like this one a million times, but the numbers aren't making any sense right now. Parker passes by you with a quick tap on your shoulder to bring your attention to her.

“Hey, you want me to count you in for the rock climbing thing this Sunday?” she asks, opening up one of the ER computers, “It was fun last time, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say slowly.

You're not too sure you can come up with a viable excuse right now, so you'll just have to cancel later. It was really fun, it just sounds like too much effort right now.

She walks away with a nod, when one of the nurses calls for her. When you start feeling surrounded in the middle of the ER hallway, you make your way to the break room. It feels even more stuffy, somehow.

You grip the papers in your hands tighter. The throbbing in your head that hasn't really left for the past two weeks has become unbearable now.

Noises are too loud. Everyone's too close. You need to get out, now.

Everything in your hand gets abandoned on the break room counter. You make your way as swiftly as possible past the patient’s rooms. A hand gently grips your arm, before you can pull the emergency exit open.

“Are you alright?”

Jack's low cadence coupled with his steady touch on your arm make you want to burst out into tears right then and there.

“I'm fine. I just—” your voice cracks.

“I need a minute,” you tell him, willing your voice to be as firm as you can manage. You can't even pull your gaze up from the floor. It isn't clear if he's buying it or not.

He lets go of your arm, and you can finally run up the hospital's stairs to the rooftop. You're completely out of breath, and still wildly overstimulated by the time you get there.

You pull the roof's metal door open. The moment the cold December air hits your face, it calms your panic down. But it brings with it a wave of sadness that can't be quelled or distracted away. You let yourself feel it.

You're out of control, now. Hands shaking, limbs completely wracked by these huge, full-body sobs. You steady yourself with your arms on one of the roof's AC units, when the memories start flooding your mind.

The kid you killed, he'd come in a week before. He had bruises all over, cuts where he wasn't supposed to. You passed the information onto someone on the day shift, so they can tell the department social worker. The next day you came back, he was gone.

A week later, he was dying in your arms. His blood literally staining your hands is a memory you'll never be able to erase. You spiral, his first and last visit to the ER flashing in your mind with equal consequence.

The footsteps growing closer barely register to your ears over your wailing. The moment Jack pulls you close, a hand on your jaw to bring your eyes to his, you instinctively pull away. He's insistent, though. He was trying to give you space, but look where that's gotten you.

“Hey, hey,” he says firmly, to grab your attention.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. He quickly realizes he can't get you to understand anything he says, not right now. So he does the next best thing.

He holds you. Really tight. So tight you can only smell his cologne and that sterile hospital scent that lingers on him for hours after a shift. It reminds you of home. You see him almost every day, but you miss him. He somehow always knows exactly what you need.

It takes a good ten minutes for you to stop crying in his arms. He's happy to be there, just glad you're slowly calming down. When your breathing evens out, and your eyes have dried out, you look up at him.

Where you think there should be disappointment, maybe even hatred, there's only admiration. If you’d actually picked up a scalpel and killed someone, he wouldn't even flinch, you think.

His gaze alone is making this a lot easier, “Better?”

You nod. Your eyes feel heavy, like you might just sleep here in his arms.

“It's the oxytocin,” he jokes.

“Yeah. I know,” you chuckle.

His scrub top looks incredibly comfortable. For the first time in weeks, you wish you were just in bed. You could lay on his chest and have the best sleep you've had in too many nights to count. The best you can get right now is resting your forehead on the black fabric. That's exactly what you do.

Jack lets a few seconds go back before speaking up.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I...” you take a deep breath.

I killed him. The words die on your tongue. You can't say them.

Jack must notice this is causing you distress, so he runs his fingers through your hair. He kisses the top of your head to calm you down.

“We don't have to, right now,” he whispers, “Not ever, even. But you do need to talk about it to someone.”

You nod in agreement, against his shirt. Your coping mechanisms are so not working.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blank, “I don't...I don't know.”

“Sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Alright. You're done.”

He pulls your head up with a hand on each cheek, “Clock out. Go home. Have some food, and I'll be there in a few hours.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You both walk to the emergency exit. In the stairwell, you turn to him, your eyes still glistening.

“Hey, um. I'm not fine, Jack,” you admit.

“I know that,” he tells you. “But you will be. I'll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot drabble #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fluff #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt show #the pitt x reader

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monstersholygrail · 3 days ago

Text

Can we just take a minute to thirst over the idea of big beefy Wolf Hybrid bf wearing the sluttiest damn shorts you, a Puppy Hybrid, have ever seen.

And imagine when he sits down they ride up even further, revealing more of the thick muscle glistening from the sun’s heat. You just have to thank the weather for how unnaturally hot it’s been because you never wouldn’t been blessed with the sight otherwise.

It’s impossible not to stare as the fabric presses tight against his skin like he purposefully bought them a size too small. You watch transfixed as they bunch up by his hips, coming to hug his crotch perfectly, revealing the massive heat he’s packing. You almost can’t believe what you’re seeing as you wonder how all that can fit into such tiny shorts.

By this point you’re salivating and you don’t think he could possibly get even hotter when something peaks out from beneath the shorts. You realize after a moment they’re his briefs and you have to pick up your jaw before you start drooling.

His hand nearly covers the entire width of his thigh as he casually pulls at his briefs instead of the shorts and an involuntary shudder jerks through your body, your panties flooding with a gush of arousal.

Immediately your cheeks flush red and you quickly look away, not wanting to admit to yourself that something so small could turn you on so bad. But it did, it so did. Your wet panties sticking to your sopping folds was proof enough of that. Fuck, you are so wrecked for your sexy and insanely slutty Wolf Hybrid bf. And at a public event, no less. You’d jump his bones anywhere any time, you were just that shameless for him.

You needed to get away, cool yourself down. Pushing out of your seat you try and make your way inside. But you slip up and make one fatal mistake. Passing your bf on the way in.

His solid fingers curl around your wrist and it takes only a moment to realize who’s touching you as he pulls you down into his lap, facing toward him. The second your needy cunt makes contact with his muscular thigh you’re letting out a whiny howl that lets him know how bad you need him.

“Where you goin’ ma, don’t feel good?” He asks with a smirk, acting all coy.

An adorable pout makes its way on your lips that he doesn’t hesitate to kiss. Which of course makes you even more horny. You chuff loudly, shaking your head and showing your displeasure. But it only makes his smirk widen, arrogance coming off him in waves.

“Aw, really? That’s too bad, Princess,” he purrs, his claws falling to your waist.

With slow practiced movements he begins subtly rocking your wet core along the length of his thigh. Your head swims with pleasure, lashes fluttering at the relief. And when he flexes the muscle just as he drags your clit down on him you practically cum right there, jaw dropping.

He works you slowly and carefully on his thigh, managing not to draw any attention while moving just enough to make your pussy flutter as you grow closer and closer to your release. You hold onto him for dear life, sighing out quiet moans and watching every minute of his dumb, smug, gorgeous face.

You’re so close, each ripple of his thigh muscles sending you closer to your peak. His leg bounces every few rock of your hips and you have to bite your lip now to howl again.

“You’re really not looking good, baby. I think we should get you home,” he says a little louder this time, catching the attention of a few people around you. Knowing just how close you are he can’t resist teasing you.

But you’re too far gone to snap back, all you can do is whimper and shake your head. Falling forward you tuck your face into his neck, trying desperately to keep quiet.

“No, you wanna stay? Ok, then just relax and let go for me, babygirl,” he says more calmly.

And as he rolls your clit over his flexing thigh one more time your entire body tenses, orgasm pouring out of you in waves. Your bf is right there the entire time, rubbing your back and helping you work through it.

When you sag against him fully his deep chuckle echos in your ear. He pulls you a little closer to him now and you moan as his hard bulge presses against your ass.

“Maybe you wanna go home now?” He asks again.

This time you’re nodding eagerly, tail wagging with anticipation behind you. More than ready to rip those slutty shorts off of him and tear them to shreds to get to that dick.

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9ine9ine9ine6ix · 2 days ago

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"but first, we're gonna donate $1k to california wildlife relief" rhett and link you're from floody, tornadoy, sorta hurricaney north cackalacky and your net worth is quadruple what someone earning enough just to get by would be. you can donate more. maybe look up what palestine is too

saw some of yall talking about the green brothers and i was like "ha i've had them blocked for years, you can't build your platform partially on world history education to turn around and obfuscate those details and pretend the genocide yall already talked about actually isn't real" and then i was like "well they aren't educators but my ass does watch GMM incognito with an adblocker" so actually, i think i get it

informed consumerism is so fucking important. blissfully and brainlessly consuming is over, you should never hope to be bamboozled into supporting apartheid or weapons manufacturing. hybe still has a shit ton of shit to divest from, hell theyre so rich south koreas social security administration equivalent is one of their top investors. that's sorta terrifying right. and it makes sense why bts was made the group to be the face of this kind of finance since they've always had mildly pro cop aesthetics and anti NK lyrics for a while with the exception of like hyyh era, and with their rapid fandom growth? yeah i bet the bulletproof boyscouts probably haven't read the documents released by the CIA about what's actual NK political activity and what stories are actually just filler posts from Dispatch that got repeated for a decade on NBC, and im sure hybe wants to keep it that way. i mean i HOPE the boys educate themselves independently and know how to look for primary sources but we should never expect that all millionaires share our ideologies without specific evidence of them being stated or money being moved away from those millionaires towards one of the diasporas we are begging people to learn about because they're being bombed for the oil under their home. does hybe have that kind of clean paper trail? no obv but. listening to ur ult bg can make you break down really bad if you know your streaming revenue is being sent to a rich american dude who makes pro-apartheid youtube content and who steals from rich white women lol. scooter only quit his operational position, he's still all over their wallet

#phan #dan and phil #dan and phil games #phil lester #daniel howell #bts #bangtan #hybe #hybe labels #hybecott #fuck hybe #informed consumerism #community #six seasons and a movie #phandom #army

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sanguineterrain · 1 day ago

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mark grayson x afab!reader. dumbification, sub!mark, increased stamina and sensitivity, needy!mark, reader is a little mean and mark thinks it's HOT <3

Thinking about Mark Grayson's heightened sensitivity... and how stupid and easy he gets when he needs a release.

Thinking about how sometimes during a fight or a long training session, all that adrenaline and pumping blood results in Mark getting hard. He wears a cup for decency so it's moderately uncomfortable when it happens. Not to mention, Mark gets embarrassed. Very embarrassed.

Mostly because you seem to know when it happens. Mark doesn't know if it's the way he walks or if something in his voice gives it away. But if he doesn't want to get teased into coming, he'd best wait until his erection flags.

(Mark has never waited. He always comes home.)

It's not his fault! He stays hard for a long time if he tries to ignore it. He doesn't have the patience to wait. And Mark loves how your eyes get sharp and feral when they land on him, his cup removed, sweaty and chubbed up in his suit. You like to corner him against the wall and part your legs and rub against him. Like to feel his dick poke at your folds. He's there for you to play with. You make sure to remind him.

And the thing is, Mark gets stupid when he's hard. Big and easy and leaky.

"Still can't figure out how you focus on anything with such a fat cock," you tell him. Mark is lightheaded. He's obscenely big in his suit, and you're wet at the sight of him bucking his hips against you, humping you like a dog. You get a tight grip on his hair, tell him to settle down and be good.

"Don't get too excited. You'll cream your pants," you say lazily, and Mark whines. You get a little mean when he's like this. He loves it. You tell him to bring you both to the bed and he obeys instantly. You rest a hand on his stomach, just above where he's made a wet patch in his suit.

"Please, pl-please, G-God," Mark's saying, abs tense under your palm. You finally free his cock, pulling his suit pants down enough, and you take in the sight of it. It's red, agitated, steadily leaking. This is one of your favorite parts. Mark doesn't need much to come. He's got a big dick and big balls but none of that matters when he blows his load in less than a minute. You tease his cock at the base with two fingers, rubbing and tracing the veins that go up to his head. It takes nothing before Mark is tensing, legs trapping you as he comes. He makes high, weepy sounds as he does, his eyes squeezed shut. You pull his hair and that heightens Mark's orgasm, making him buck into the air.

And then, the next best part.

"Oh my God," you say with a laugh. "Dumb, fat cock can't even get soft after coming? All those muscles and strength and you're still fucking needy. You can't even think when you're like this, can you?"

A Viltrumite effect. Mark needs at least two orgasms to soften. He can't even reply now, he's so desperate. Once, you'd made him stay hard on purpose, not allowing his second release for ages. When you had let him come, Mark had cried, red-faced and dizzy with arousal.

You don't do that now, pitying his desperation. You press Mark down into the mattress instead and he lets you, never resistant with you. You rake your hand through his hair. Mark cranes his neck, wanting a kiss. You indulge him and he moans into your mouth, rutting against your stomach.

"Ah-ah," you say, slipping your hand between your bodies and trapping Mark's cock against his stomach. He whines, forgetting himself and bucking his hips, his strength coming easily. You squeeze him in warning.

"Be good," you say. "Be good or I'll leave you like this, stupid and leaking."

Mark shakes his head, eyes wet. "No, no, please, need it, need you. Please, please, 'm s-so hard."

"Oh, I know." You take your other hand and squeeze Mark's pecs, first the right then the left. He moans, arching beneath you. You flick his nipples until they're hard under his suit. "Is this all you're good for? Fighting and emptying your balls? Your stupid dick can't even tell the difference between the adrenaline of a fight and me touching you."

Mark whines, squirming beneath you. "That's not t-true, I'm—I—"

"You what?" you ask, mocking. You take his cock in a tight grip, tighter than you'd hold a regular person. But Mark can take it. Mark wants to take it. "What are you gonna say, baby? You gonna tell me you're smart? That you're more than your fat tits and cock?"

Mark doesn't manage an answer. You grind on him hard, your pussy still clothed. His eyes are fluttering so you hold his chin and shake him a little.

"Eyes on me, big guy," you say. "You want me to fuck you? Wanna cum inside me?"

Mark nods eagerly, hair wild, cheeks blotchy. "Yeah, yeah, please—"

"Take off my underwear," you say.

Mark immediately grabs the band of your underwear and pulls. The fabric rips like wet paper. You look down, mouth open.

"Oh, baby," you say. Mark's already fumbling over an apology, promising to buy you new ones. You roll your eyes and pull his hair. "Why did I think that would go any differently? You'd tear through anything to get your dick wet."

"'M sorry, I thought—"

"Well, that was your first mistake, wasn't it, sweetie? Don't think, you're not good at it right now."

You take Mark's wrists and put them above his head. It takes both of your hands to do so. You know the only reason you can hold him like this is because he's letting you.

"Gonna be a good boy and fuck me?" you ask, arching your back so you can drag your pussy over Mark's cock. "Gonna make me cum? Or are you just gonna rut into me like a dumb dog?"

Mark shakes his head. "No, gonna be good. I can make you cum. Make you feel good. Lemme do it—lemme feel you, I can do it, please—"

And finally, finally, you let him inside. Mark loses all coherence, only panting and whining as he meets you thrust for thrust. You barely need to move, he's so eager. He's gorgeous like this, suit disheveled and pulled up only as far as it needs to be for you to play with his cock. His hair is messy and he's shiny with sweat. You can't imagine how overwhelming his arousal is, coursing through him and turning his brain to soup even when he's not with you. It's no wonder he'll let you do whatever you want to him.

"Are you being good, honey pie?" you ask. "Are you gonna hold it till I tell you?"

"Can't," Mark says, like he always does, but you know better.

"You can," you say. "You can or I'm pulling off of you. Can you rub my clit or are you too dumb to do that?"

"I can, I can," he says. You free one of his hands and he clumsily finds your clit. Mark rubs you as you fuck him, his cock making a mess in your pussy.

You feel your orgasm swell. "Wait till I cum," you order. "You couldn't even hold your first one, so wait."

Mark's eyes are wet. "Are you close? Can I cum now? Please, can't hold it—"

"Yes, you can," you say, digging your nails into his scalp. Mark whines loudly, his thrusts sloppy and fast. "Fucking hold it, Mark."

And he does. He manages to hold off until you cum, your orgasm washing over you. Then you say the magic words. "Go ahead."

And Mark forgets himself and breaks out of your grip, grabbing your back and waist instead. He buries his face in your shoulder, grunting and whimpering as he fucks you, one leg over your hip for leverage. You can't do anything but hold on as Mark chases his release. He cums for a long time, shaking against you. When he's done, he rolls you over so you're lying on your side.

"That was s-so good," he says, voice cracking from pleasure. "You're so mean to me, I love it. Was I good? Was I your good boy?"

"Pretty boy," you say, kissing his temple. "You were the best. So good for me, sweetheart."

He sighs happily, seemingly satisfied, but you know better. It's never a complete night without Mark's head between your legs.

#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #invincible smut #sub mark grayson #dom reader #mark grayson x you #invincible x y/n

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mononijikayu · 3 days ago

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what was i made for — gojo satoru.

You paused. “Even if that means you’re technically with someone else’s wife?” “Baby, I’m with you. Not your paperwork. Not your status. Just you.” He grinned, leaned across the couch, and kissed your cheek. “And besides, if I ever feel insecure, I’ll just buy you a vacation home to stroke my ego.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened anyway. “I already have a vacation home.” “And?” He raised a sly brow. “You can have another one. Again, I’ll buy you one. Pick whatever you like.” You become flustered. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah, I know. But you love me.” “.....That I do.”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw!, r-18, afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, falling in love, long-term relationship, separation, healing, age gap, emotional, relief, doubt, profanity, drama, doubt, explicit, sexual intercourse, making out, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, fingering, creampie, praising, bodily fluids, mention of bodily fluids, mention of trauma, mention of cheating, mention of sexual innuendos, depiction of sexual activities, actor! nanami, actor! gojo, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 18k words

NOTE: this is probably the happiest chapter in the story. which means that something else will happen with time. there's about two or three chapters in this part of the story. toji's is almost finished too, but that takes time. we're about to see the end of the cheating au!!! thank you so much for reading it and loving my work and writing!!! i love you all so much~ see you in the next chapter!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

THINGS MOVED ON SO FAST IN A BLINK OF AN EYE, YOU COULD HARDLY CATCH THEM. It’s been four years since you and Gojo Satoru began… whatever this beautiful whirlwind was. Love, romance, partnership, a second chance.

Many people can call it what they will, those who know behind the scenes. But you were certain that these few years were the best years of your life.

At first, it felt strange, even unfair that you were living these experiences without a care in the world. It was all like you were stepping into sunlight too soon after the storm. Yet the more you saw the smile on your face blossoming, the more your hand was warmed by Satoru’s own, you started to think that the strange feeling was gone.

Your amicable separation from your estranged husband Nanami Kento had been quiet, civil and weirdly calm. There were absolutely no fights.

There was no betrayal of confidence in that table, sitting across from each other in the home you once shared together. This was not what you expected for yourself after being married to him for nearly three decades. But that was just what it was.

You two were just people who grew apart, slowly and inevitably, like leaves falling from the same tree but drifting in different directions. Two miserable people who can’t bear to be miserable together any longer. This was for the best. At the very least, you both weren’t going to kill each other like that anymore.

Before long, you both were sitting in front of your lawyers and discussing everything. A legal agreement, a legal separation in a sense. Not yet divorce. That was what Kento and you had talked about at length that morning, after not seeing each other for a long time.

It wasn’t sentiment, exactly. Well, at least that’s what you like to think. Perhaps it was practicality, perhaps with a thread of stubborn care. Nanami Kento insisted on it. Even if you didn’t want anything to do with it at all.

“Kento, I do not want your money.” You shake your head at him. “The kids can have it.”

“Look, the law states that if something happens to me, as my spouse, you’re entitled to half. All of it!” Kento jabs a finger at the paper like it personally offended him. “To be honest, you have more entitlement to all of it than anyone else.”

You scoff. “That doesn’t mean I want it. I’m not some fortune-hunting widow-in-waiting. You knew that when we got married.”

“I do know that.” he snaps back, exasperated. “That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Your Royal Highness.” you mutter. “Shall I curtsy, or do we just skip to the part where you fake your death and live in a cabin in Norway?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You still want to keep your little charity empire alive, right?”

“Yes, of course I do—”

“Well, surprise!” He cuts in smoothly, that old lawyer–glint returning to his caramel eyes. “The money for that comes from the fund tied to this account”—he wraps the page with his knuckle—“which, might I remind you, was created by us, for you. The only way it keeps going is if you take the damn money.”

You cross your arms. “Fine. But we’re only selling the main house. Not the summer or winter homes. The kids still love those. They’re the only places where no one cries during dinner.”

“That’s a done deal.” he says too quickly. “But I’m giving you the full sale from the main house. All of it.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Why does this sound like you’re trying to bribe me into being your ghost–wife?”

He sighs and crouches in front of you, resting his arms on your knees like a man about to confess a war crime. “Because I’m thinking about the long term. When I die—”

“Don’t say it like you’re ordering takeout, gosh.”

“—you get half of everything.” he continues, unbothered. “The kids get the other half. I’ve already set it up.”

There’s a beat of silence before you say flatly, “That’s a very unsexy way to say you still care about me.”

He grins, crooked. “I stopped trying to be sexy when we started arguing about hedge funds in our pajamas.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, Nanami Kento.”

“And you’re the reason my accountant drinks.”

“Are you sure it’s not because of you?”

“I give him gifts.”

“I do too. That’s why you pay him double, don’t you?”

“Only because he likes you more than me.”

You both fall quiet in that moment, still looking into each other’s eyes. You could feel all of the tension shifting, even just slightly. A mutual understanding weaving through the sarcasm and legalese like it always has.

Finally, you sigh. “Fine. We’ll sell the main house. You keep your weird death–plan. I’ll take the fund. But if you die on me in the next five years, I am haunting you.”

“That’s fair.” He nods solemnly. “You’ll probably be a very stylish ghost.”

“Oh, I will be in heels.”

“Gosh, that blue eyed bastard rubbed on you too much.”

“I can say the same thing about your new play thing.”

“It’ll be over in five months. Don’t be ridiculous.”

You snickered at him. You let yourself sit back, arms crossed, legs tucked under you like a queen on her crooked little throne. “After all that and the cheating, Nanami Kento…..You and I really are better as friends.”

He flinches, just a little. Enough for you to notice. “You’re not gonna let that one go, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve let it go. That’s why I’m fucking your co–star.” you reply coolly. “Well, not all of it. There’s still some anger. Right into the bonfire of my dignity, along with your cufflinks and that hideous espresso machine your secretary picked out.”

He presses his lips together like he’s deciding between biting them or biting his own tongue. “That machine cost three grand.”

“And couldn’t even steam milk right. Fitting, really.”

Kento lets out a huff of something halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You know, it’s weird how you can make me feel guilty and impressed at the same time.”

“I’m gifted like that.” You tilt your head at him. “But you know I’m right. We were always better when we weren’t trying so hard to be something... storybook. Friends with a shared mortgage and matching towels was a lie we told ourselves to make brunch less awkward.”

He nods slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Friends who actually like each other, instead of married people tolerating each other’s toothbrushes.”

“Exactly.” You pause. “No one tells you how quietly devastating that kind of cohabitation is. One day you’re in love. Next, you’re arguing about throwing pillows and whose turn it is to pretend they’re happy.”

Kento’s eyes soften. “I did love you. I hope you know that.”

You smile. It's sad and dry and a little crooked. “I know. I loved you, too. Just… not enough to live in a sitcom with a laugh track made of resentment for the rest of my life. Not after Satoru loved me so well.”

“I know.”

There's silence again, but it's the calm kind this time. The “I see you” kind. The kind that only comes after the worst of the storm passes and you’re standing in the wreckage, somehow still upright.

“So…” he says after a beat. “Do I still get to crash at the winter house when the city drives me crazy?”

“As long as you don’t bring any dates there.” you reply. “That’s the only ground rule. I won’t bring Satoru either. It’s just for us and the kids.”

“Deal.”

“And if you break that, I’ll have the kids hide your socks in the freezer. Actually, throw you in the river.”

He grins, standing up and offering you his hand like it’s some kind of truce. “You really are a menace.”

“And you dear fool….” you say, taking it. “You are tragically still in love with your ex-wife who has better taste in furniture.”

“Touché.”

You both laugh ever so earnestly, honestly. It was a sharp, honest, tired laugh and for the first time in a long while, it feels real. You knew it was. That was the last time you met him in a few years.

The kids see him still, to be sure. But not enough. They still aren’t on the best terms, after all. Though your estranged husband sends greetings and gifts, he keeps himself busy with project after project. But perhaps that was for the best.

Even after your paths diverged, he did as he promised and still funds your charity work. In fact, doubling what he has given over the years. And gave the money from the sale of the house. No questions asked. No comments. The wire transfers came in like clockwork. It was always clean, quiet, and consistent.

Gojo Satoru found out about it early on. You’d braced for a reaction. Almost anything from jealousy to disapproval. But he’d just blinked, snorted, and said:

“Well, it’s the least your absentee husband can do. Dude skipped out on being your soulmate, the least he can do is pay rent on your greatness.”

You laughed, surprised at how easily the tension melted away around him. “You’re not even the slightest bit weirded out?” you asked him once, months into your relationship.

Satoru glanced up from his phone, where he was reading something with that smug, unreadable look of his. “What, that your ex is still investing in your humanitarian ambitions? Please. If anything, I respect the hell out of that. He knows you’re worth betting on.”

You paused. “Even if that means you’re technically with someone else’s wife?”

“Baby, I’m with you. Not your paperwork. Not your status. Just you.” He grinned, leaned across the couch, and kissed your cheek. “And besides, if I ever feel insecure, I’ll just buy you a vacation home to stroke my ego.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened anyway. “I already have a vacation home.”

“And?” He raised a sly brow. “You can have another one. Again, I’ll buy you one. Pick whatever you like.”

You become flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know. But you love me.”

“.....That I do.”

There were days when guilt stirred quietly in your chest, especially when you caught yourself smiling at Satoru in the middle of an ordinary day. Just cutting vegetables in the kitchen, waiting in line for coffee, brushing your teeth side by side. That deep kind of joy felt… undeserved, sometimes.

But Satoru never made you feel like you owe anyone an apology.

He had a way of grounding you without anchoring you. He never demanded explanations. He never needed to be assured that he was loved. He just… was. He was everything you could ever dream of and more.

He was steady and unshaken. So sure that whatever you gave him. Your time, your touch, your quiet little smiles—it was more than enough. And maybe that was what made you love him more fiercely than you ever expected.

One morning, you stood at the stove in one of his oversized shirts, stirring miso soup while he wandered in half-awake, hair a chaotic mess of white and pillow–pressed waves. He slid behind you without a word, arms slipping around your waist. His face pressed into the crook of your neck.

“You smell like tofu and betrayal, baby.” he mumbled.

You laughed, leaning back into his warmth. “Betrayal?”

“I was supposed to wake up before you and impress you with breakfast. Now I have no choice but to pout dramatically for the next hour.”

You turned in his arms, spoon in hand, raising a brow. “We both know you were never going to wake up first.”

He gasped, pressing a hand to his heart like you'd wounded him. “I could have. If I believed in myself. And if you hadn’t drugged me with your love and a weighted blanket.”

“Maybe I’ll drug you again tonight.”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Now that’s romantic, baby.”

But behind the jokes, the little routines, the comfortable touch of familiarity, you knew he saw it too, that quiet shadow in your eyes on some nights.

The way your tender gaze drifted just a second too long when Nanami Kento’s name was mentioned on the news. The stillness in your shoulders when letters came in with his name on the envelope.

You never talked about it much. Well, at least not directly. You found yourself curled up on the balcony with wine and a blanket between you, Satoru carefully nudged your knee gently with his. He looks at you with stars in his eyes, with love in his eyes.

“You don’t have to feel bad.” he said, not looking at you. “For loving someone who loved you well. That’s not a wound. That’s just… life. And you don’t have to tuck it away for me.”

You swallowed, the knot in your throat rising too fast, too suddenly. “I never wanted it to feel like I was splitting myself between you two.”

“You’re not, baby.” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re here. With me. That’s all I need. What you shared with Nanami doesn’t take anything from what we have. If anything, it just proves you know how to love deeply. And I’m lucky you chose to do it again.”

Your eyes blurred, and he let you fall against him, his hand smoothing over your hair as if keeping you from falling apart entirely. “I didn’t think I could have this again.” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You can. And you do.”

And somehow, you believed him.

IT WAS A LOT, LEARNING HOW TO BE INDEPENDENT AGAIN. At that time, you bought your first apartment in a long while. It was supposed to be liberating—exciting, even.

A fresh start, a space all your own. But no one warns you that real estate hunting in the city is just emotional roulette with better lighting. The search was insane.

Open houses felt like war zones. Every place you liked had at least one dealbreaker: too exposed, too small, too haunted by the spirit of bad interior design. And the ones that ticked all the boxes? Snatched up in seconds by people with deeper pockets or better poker faces.

You were melting down daily. The need for privacy, for a place that didn’t come with a paper-thin wall and neighbors who fought like they were auditioning for a reality show.

It all felt like too much. You’d walk into listings and walk right back out two minutes later when you realized the "third bedroom" was actually just a glorified closet with a weird smell.

Enter: Satoru’s mother, Gojo Sasaki.

A force of nature in kitten heels, wielding real estate knowledge like a weapon of divine intervention. She insisted on tagging along “just to make sure no one sells you a shoebox and calls it a penthouse.” and thanked every deity you half-believe in that she did.

She brought snacks. She brought printouts. She brought energy. She fought brokers with a smile that could freeze lava and charmed doormen into giving her the real scoop on the building. And despite your initial protests, you were grateful. Deeply, surprisingly grateful.

You were sitting cross-legged in the back of yet another overpriced studio with water stains on the ceiling, staring blankly at the fake marble countertops when you sighed. “If I die here, tell the coroner I wanted better flooring.”

“I told you we should’ve skipped this one, sweetheart.” Satoru’s mother said, arms crossed, sunglasses still on indoors like she was ready to assassinate a broker if necessary. “That listing said ‘charming’ which we both know is code for ‘run.’”

You cracked a tired smile. “How do you always know these things?”

“Sweetheart, that’s simple.” she said, linking her arm with yours, “I survived three housing markets, two recessions, and your boyfriend’s rather stupid ‘minimalist’ phase. I know things. Now come on, we’re getting coffee and pretending this didn’t happen.”

You had no idea how you would've survived that apartment hunt without her. Satoru was off filming with Suguru for their big duo project. It was some morally ambiguous, slow–burn, guns–and–gloves drama where both of them looked like trouble and sin on-screen.

Which meant you were left with a string of missed calls, loving texts like “you find a place with a bathtub yet? asking for my muscles” and a FaceTime from a desert set where he looked like a mirage with eye bags.

So yeah, you were mostly on your own. Except... not really.

“Let me guess.” you said after touring a third apartment that day, this one with a layout that made no architectural sense. “They called this one something like blah blah blah modern oasis. Or something like that.”

“Open-concept disaster is more accurate, sweetie.” she replied, flipping through her printouts with a level of judgment only a mother–in–law could wield. “Also, did you notice the neighbors? That man with the parrot who said he sings at night?”

“He does. I heard him through the vents.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

You laughed, even as you leaned heavily against the hallway wall, overwhelmed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

She looked at you then—not with pity, but with that calm, razor–sharp gaze Satoru inherited. “Yes, you can. You’re just tired. And stressed. And madly in love with my idiot son, who thinks sending you something called memes is emotional support.”

You choked on a laugh. “You noticed that too?”

“Oh honey. He sends me the same ones. I’m quite confused about them, but all the same it’s what it is.”

Eventually after a long search, you found it. Tucked on a quiet street, the sixth place on what had become your no chance in hell sort of day. A sunlit living room, solid walls, a balcony just big enough for four chairs and a wine night. You stood in the middle of the room, blinking like you'd been hit by soft light and maybe.

Satoru’s mom placed her hand on your shoulder. “This is the one.”

You swallowed. “Really?”

She nodded. “You already relaxed. You haven’t done that in weeks. Also, the plumbing is from this century. And sweetie, you can afford this. It’s good to lavish on yourself.”

You turned to her. “You think he’ll like it?”

She smiled. “He’ll love it. But more importantly, you do.”

When Gojo Satoru finally returned back to Tokyo, the first thing he did was come to your new home. It was hard to get everything ready by yourself but your kids and Sasaki–san helped out and got everything done just before noon. You wouldn’t have gotten anything done in time if you did it all by yourself.

Your beautiful boyfriend came with his messy white hair, voice still quite a bit hoarse from late–night reshoots. You smiled at him and helped him take off his coat. You put away his coat in the coat hanger as he bothers himself with the slippers you laid on the floor. When he was done, you let your lips pressed to his. He smiles into the kiss, deepening it.

“Well, that’s quite a welcome after a long day.” He whispers against your lips, when you both separate. “Happy about that.”

“Hm, you always are.” You whisper back, smiling back at him. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Of course. Any time with you is precious time spent.”

You giggle. “You always flatter me.”

“My girl deserves nothing but the best, you know?”

“Welcome to your part-time residence, babe.” you said to him, moving to give him his own set of keys. “No parrots from creepy rich old guys. No cursed plumbing. Room for your life–size cardboard cutout of yourself.”

He blinked, grinning. “Wait—you found it? Like this is it?”

“She did, with my mapping, of course.” his mother said, arms folded proudly. She had just come from the kitchen. She was making dinner for the three of you. “You could say this was the diamond in the rough, son.”

Satoru looked between you both, stunned. “I leave for a bit and suddenly she’s your daughter and I’m the in–law?”

“Oh, honey, definitely.” his mother purred. “In my mind, it was when you told me you liked her. That was twenty odd years ago. But I digress.”

“Duh, she’s my mom now, baby.” You snorted. “She’s part of the deal now. You lose me, you lose her.”

“Noted, we switched roles.” he said, pulling you into a kiss before turning to her. “So do I get a closet?”

“No.” you and his mother said in unison.

“Oh, come on! I gotta buy my own?”

“Son, that’s the least you can do.” His mother says as you and her hooked arms into the kitchen. “Pull your weight!”

“You tell him, ma!”

Gojo Satoru shakes his head. “I’m outnumbered now.”

“And don’t you forget it, honey!”

You started hosting dinners there, at first nervously, then with growing comfort. Satoru’s many friends who were loud, messy, chaotic in the best way began to fill your space with laughter, empty bottles of wine, and stories that tangled into the early morning hours.

They weren’t just his friends anymore. They became yours, too. And that has made you very happy. You hadn’t had friends in a very long time. Many had only been countless faces in the sea of your estranged husband’s stardom. Relationships in his world were fast paced. You hated it. But it was not the case with Satoru’s own pride. That you had adored so much.

Geto Suguru always offered to help with dishes, even if he did them all wrong. Ieiri Shoko brought a new dessert every time and left her lighter on your bookshelf without fail.

Haibara Yuu always complimented your cooking with such sincerity it made you blush, and Shoko’s girlfriend, Utahime Iori often stayed behind with you to help clean and vent about her day.

Gojo Satoru would lounge on your couch like he paid rent, socks mismatched and grin ever-present, always somehow finding the softest throw blanket before anyone else. He moved through your space like he belonged there, because he did.

It wasn’t official, not yet. There was no key permanently on his ring, perhaps that’s just going to be the case for a long long time. Yet he does not care. And neither did you. His presence clung to the place like sunlight caught in the curtains. It was warm, familiar, impossible to ignore.

Sometimes he’d show up late, well past midnight, hair still damp from the shower, smelling like hotel soap and whatever cologne Suguru dared him to wear that week. He never made a big entrance. Just a soft knock, or sometimes no knock at all. It was just a quiet door click and the shuffle of his sneakers.

He wouldn’t say much. Maybe just murmured his loving words to you before setting his bag down and collapsing onto the couch like gravity worked harder on him than anyone else. His head would find your lap within minutes. His breathing would slow the moment your fingers slipped through his hair.

“What are we watching?” he’d mumble, half-asleep.

“Something stupid.”

“Perfect.”

And that was it. That was the whole language between you some nights. And it meant to you more than anything in the world. This beautiful shared silence, the hum of the television, the weight of his trust resting quietly on your thighs. This was everything you had dreamed of for all those dark thirty years.

There was still a drawer in your bedroom that held unopened letters from Kento. There was still a part of you that carried the shape of another life. But Satoru never asked you to erase it. Instead, he brought light into the corners you didn’t know were dim.

He never rushed your healing, never tried to step into places that weren’t his. He just… waited. Patiently. Kindly. With that unwavering presence that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

Sometimes, in the hush of a Sunday morning, he’d make coffee before you even woke up, padding around barefoot with bedhead and the sleeves of his hoodie covering his hands. You’d find him standing by the window, sipping from your favorite mug like it was his, bathed in soft light, looking at peace.

He never said it, but you knew he liked being there. Not just visiting. You saw it in the way he knew where the sugar went, how he refolded the throw blankets without thinking, how he started bringing over books and leaving them by your bed.

Other times, he brought Sasaki–san with him. Announced only by the scent of pastries or expensive perfume. She’d breeze in with a tote bag full of skincare samples and gossip swiftly declaring to you words she said best.

“You look tired. Lie down. I brought a cooling mask and judgment.”

“I’m fine, ma.” you’d always say, even as she was already applying something that tingles in a concerning but oddly pleasant way. “Really.”

“Lying makes you puffy.” she’d reply firmly. “Come and be a good daughter and let me help care for you!”

When she didn’t bring him, she came alone happily. This was usually after one of his longer shoots. As if she knew the exact moments you needed a little something soft and strange to anchor you again.

She’d brew the fancy tea no one but her understood, talk about vintage cookware, offer unsolicited but accurate relationship advice, then leave like she hadn’t just recalibrated your entire emotional frequency.

There was one evening you found your boyfriend Satoru asleep in your bed, sprawled diagonally, stealing your side like a cat. His mother was in the kitchen, humming and slicing fruit with the precision of a surgeon.

“I go and change his position, ma.” you said, leaning in the doorway. “He’ll catch a cold.”

“Add a blanket, nothing more than that, sweetie.” she replied without looking up. “He only sleeps like that when he feels safe. Let him.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. Because he did. He was safe. And somehow, so were you. You stood there for a moment longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand had flopped over to your pillow like he missed you in his sleep.

His socks were still on. Still once more mismatched and rather dirty. One of his feet brutishly hung off the edge like he hadn’t quite figured out how to fit in a bed built for two. “He’s overworked again, isn’t he?”

“He snored loud a little earlier, so that’s true.” his mother added, casual as anything. “But only when he rolled onto his back. Suguru used to throw a pillow at him when they roomed together in their early days in the business. You could try that. Or just pinch his nose and pray.”

You snorted. “He’s lucky I love him.”

“He is lucky, sweetie.” she said, pausing to hand you a slice of apple, crisp and chilled. “But so are you. My son is a storm, but he doesn’t land where he doesn’t mean to.”

You took a bite. Sweet. Cold.

Sharp at the edge, like the things she never said out loud.

“I know.” You whispered to her tenderly. “I’m very lucky.”

Later, when she’d gone and the house had gone quiet, you slid into bed next to him, gently nudging him to scoot over. He murmured something incoherent, squinting one eye open. He looks at you, drooling.

“Mmm… 's it tomorrow already?”

“Almost. You’re on my side, you know.”

“Your side is warmer.”

“Because I warm it.”

He grinned sleepily, latching onto you like a koala. “Exactly.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

You buried your fingers in his hair, resting your cheek against his. “Yeah. I really do.”

He looked at you softly. “You know, I used to think home was a place. But now I think maybe it’s just wherever you are.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

Because what do you say to something like that?

You’d stopped believing in forever a long time ago. But maybe this wasn’t about forever. Maybe it was about now. This sliver of time where you were both here, both whole, both willing to try. So you let him stay a little longer than that wrapped in your arms. You let yourself believe a little more.

A little while later, he was out again in seconds, breathing slow and steady. And you lay there, listening to the rain tap softly at the windows, his warmth bleeding into you, your heart quieter than it had been in years.

Both of you, safe. For once, completely and irrevocably safe.

PEOPLE HAD STARTED TO NOTICE EVERYTHING, WITH THEIR KEEN LITTLE EYES. Not just fans or critics, but colleagues, directors, interviewers who had worked with him for years.

Gojo Satoru had always been brilliant, undeniably talented, magnetic on screen. He was the kind of actor who could make silence feel like dialogue. But something had shifted in the air with him.

There was a new depth to his performances, a stillness beneath the chaos. Like he had nothing to prove anymore, just something honest to offer. A kind of clarity. Vulnerability. Everything had become more intense, more overwhelming, more real.

“He’s always been good to work with.” one director said in an interview. “But now he’s present. It’s like he finally stopped running like he’s running out of time. He’s started walking at a pace that he can feel leisurely about.”

“Oh definitely!” The actress he worked with smiled back at the director’s words. “Gojo–senpai really has become so much more of a human being, in a sense. It’s hard to explain. But there was just something about him these days.”

“Maybe he’s in love?” The interviewer posed to the cast and director, with a smile on her face.

“Or maybe he’s sleeping well.” Another actor snickered to the side.

“Maybe he’s earning more money!” The actress once again snides, earning laughter. “Bonus is upcoming, senpai! Be even more radiant!”

Besides that, people started to take notice of how he was no longer chasing project after project the way he used to. He still worked, still showed up, still delivered. But the rhythm was different now. Softer. More deliberate.

He took longer breaks between all the roles he’s been taking little by little, turned down parts he would’ve once jumped at with eagerness, and merely smiled unapologetically, bright eyed even, when asked about it in interviews.

“Life’s too short to never rest, you know?” he said once, shrugging. “And there are places I want to be. People I want to be with. Just gaining a new perspective in life lately.”

He was traveling more, and not alone. Sometimes fans would spot him in quiet corners of other cities. His hands tucked into his pockets, sunglasses low on his nose, walking next to you like the world wasn’t watching.

You were laughing beside him, or reading on a train while he leaned on your shoulder, or slipping your hand into his without fanfare. You had no worries in the world as you stood together with him as his equal.

There were photos of you both by the coast in Italy, wrapped in shawls and laughter. Or in Kyoto, at a food stall, faces lit by lantern light. Or somewhere quiet and nondescript, where only the lucky few realized who they were seeing and chose not to interrupt.

There were no worries about everything else either. Gojo Satoru held the media and the people with the palm of his hand. His fansites refuse to post anything about his private time, at his manipulative request accompanied by fan service. And his little text to Higurama Hiromi makes every headline go away.

No one knows and no one seems to care. That’s why you can say, your boyfriend just seemed lighter. Not in the way someone loses weight, but in the way someone puts something down. And everyone could see it, even if they don't know why.

But you knew everything too well. You knew everything the world didn’t. And that’s what mattered. You were the beginning and end of his happiness. That’s why he wasn’t escaping anymore. He was arriving.

He stopped talking about needing to disappear into a role to feel alive. Stopped measuring his worth by the size of the screen or the buzz of the press. Instead, he started asking questions like, “Do you want to stay another day?” or “What if we took the long way back?”

He started calling his agent less. Started denying any guest appearances left and right. Started singing and goofing around more. Started sitting in silence with you like it was a conversation worth having. Everything was done with you by his side.

Life lived like this had everything to do with stillness. With safety. With love that didn’t demand, but invited. It had everything to do with the nights he spent asleep with his head on your shoulder.

With the mornings you brought him coffee before he asked. With the apartment full of his friends who had become yours. With your laughter echoing through every room he’d once thought he’d only pass through.

You became the reason he didn’t need to run anymore. And he didn’t say that out loud all the time. He didn’t need to. But he told you in the way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. In the pictures he took of you on film, quietly, reverently. In this way he always waited to fall asleep until you were beside him.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t changed for the world. He’d changed because, for the first time, he didn’t have to be larger than life to be loved. He just had to be here. He can just be himself in the world locked away like this with you.

The villa was still. Except for the echoes of your heavy breathing and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Days had blurred into nights, or maybe it was the other way around. You didn’t know anymore. You can’t think straight.

You had no sense of time anymore, not with Satoru constantly between your legs, his hands all over you, his mouth pressed to your skin like he’d die if he stopped. And you let him. Hell, you craved it just as much.

You and Satoru in blissful isolation here in Switzerland. No paparazzi, no cameras, no media. It was just the two of you in a secluded villa where no one could see how utterly undone you had both become.

What started as innocent stolen moments quickly turned into madness you could only crave because of him. You hadn’t left the bed for days. You didn’t want to. There was no need to do so And he was happy to oblige. Pamper you with your wants.

Your body ached, raw from his touch. You could feel his teeth, his tongue, his fingers all over you. They were all too rough and brutish, but you didn’t care. The sheets were soaked, clinging to your damp skin.

Your thighs still trembled from the last time he was inside you, and yet, here you were again. On your back. On your stomach. Bent over. Under him. Over him. There was no end to it. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you, but your body kept begging for more.

"You’re crazy, baby." you gasped in nonsensical tones, your voice hoarse from the endless screams he’d pulled from you. Your nails dug into his back, his sweat-slicked skin hot and feverish beneath your touch.

Satoru just laughed, breathless, his bright blue eyes blown wide with something feral. His white hair stuck to his forehead, and his beautiful mouth was red and swollen from kissing you senseless everywhere and anywhere.

"And you're just as bad, aren’t you?" he rasped, his hand gripping your jaw to force your mouth open before his tongue slid inside. It was messy, all teeth and desperation, but it only made you dizzier.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pooling all the wetness of your bodies all around you. You kept pulling him deeper into you and you wanted more. You want him to overtake you. You needed it. You needed him. Your mind was gone, reduced to nothing but a hazy, animalistic desire to keep him inside you.

"Fuck, fuck. Baby, baby…..hoooooo…..hu—" you sobbed, arching against him as another orgasm barreled through you, unexpected and violent.

Your rigid body seized around him, walls fluttering as you felt his cock throb. But he didn’t stop — he never stopped. Not when he had you all for himself to pamper and to love. Even when you came, he kept moving like a man possessed. It didn’t help that you kept encouraging him too.

"You’re not tired yet, are you?" Satoru's voice was wrecked, but his grin was sinful. His hands tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite down on your throat, leaving yet another mark. "You can take it, can’t you, baby? My good girl can keep up, right?"

"You’re insane……" you gasped, but your hips still lifted to meet his thrusts, helpless under his touch. "We’ve been in bed for days."

"And I’ll keep you here for more if you let me." His teeth grazed your jaw, his hand sliding down your stomach until his fingers found your already oversensitive clit. You jolted, legs clamping around him, but he just chuckled darkly. "You’re not tapping out, are you?"

Tears burned your eyes from pleasure, from overstimulation, from the sheer intensity of it all. "Satoru—"

"I know, baby." He kissed you, swallowing your cries as his thrusts turned bruising. "I know."

Your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red marks bleeding all over, and his answering groan shot straight to your core. His grip on your waist tightened, possessive and desperate, like he couldn’t get deep enough.

"We’re so fucked up, aren’t we?" you whimpered, head spinning. "We haven’t left this bed—fuck…fuckkkkkk. W–we haven’t eaten—"

"Don’t need food, baby." he bit out, his pace rough and frenzied. "Need you. Only you, mmm…."

And you lost it. Again. Your body locked up, mouth open in a silent scream as another orgasm wrecked you, and Satoru followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a guttural groan.

But even after, he didn’t move away. He didn’t pull out. Instead, he collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and grounding, and you felt his cock twitch again. Still hard and excited.

"You're fucking deranged, you bastard—what the fuck, you feel too good….." you whispered, your voice shaking. “You still feel so big, oh my god…..”

Satoru lifted his head, his grin dangerous and boyish all at once. "And you love it."

And you did. Because when his mouth dragged down your chest and his hands gripped your thighs again, you didn’t stop him. You spread your legs. You let him take you again. And again. And again. Until the sun rose and set and rose again and you still hadn’t left the bed.

Because he wasn’t done with you. And you weren’t done with him.

The air in the room was becoming more suffocating than ever before. It was highly toxic, thick with sweat, sex, and the sheer heat of your bodies colliding over and over again. You didn’t know how long it had been. Hours. Days. Time didn’t exist anymore. Not here. Not in this bed where Satoru refused to let you leave.

Your limbs felt boneless, pliant beneath him. Your voice was completely gone, too hoarse and too raw from screaming his name until you couldn’t anymore. Your throat burned, your entire body ached, and yet… you still wanted it.

Satoru hovered over you now, his face flushed, his white hair clinging to his forehead. His pupils were blown wide, eyes glazed with something primal. Something unhinged. He hadn’t let you go. Hadn’t let you leave this bed. Hadn’t stopped touching you. And you didn’t fight it, not once.

"You look ruined, baby." he rasped, his voice cracked from hours of panting and groaning your name. His thumb traced your swollen lips, still slick from his last kiss. "So pretty like this. All fucked out and begging me to keep going."

"I’m not—" your protest died the moment his hips snapped into you again, knocking the air from your lungs. Your back arched off the mattress, another shattered moan tearing from your throat. "Fuck, fuck…..Satoru, Satoru, what the fuckkkkkk……I can’t—"

"Yes, you can, baby." he cut you off, voice like gravel as he drove himself impossibly deeper. "You always can."

His hand found your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air but firm enough to make your head spin. "You think I’m stopping now? After everything we’ve done?" His grip tightened slightly, his pace punishing. "After the way you’ve been screaming for me like a little slut?"

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t form words. All you could do was feel. And God, you felt everything. The thick drag of him inside you, the sting of his teeth on your skin, the burn of your overstimulated nerves. You’d come too many times to count. The sheets beneath you were completely ruined, your legs trembling with each thrust. But he wouldn’t stop.

Did you even want him to?

"S–satoru….please, I’m close, I’m close. Give me….fuck—" you begged, your voice cracking, unsure if you were begging him to stop or keep going.

"Please, what?" His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand gripping your thigh so hard you were sure it would bruise. "Please fuck you more? Please don’t stop? Please fill you up again?"

Your eyes rolled back. "Y–you bastard—"

"Yeah, baby." Satoru growled, teeth sinking into your shoulder. "That’s what I thought."

It was insane, he was insane. The way he wouldn’t let you out of his grasp, the way his body was still ravenous for yours despite having already taken you more times than you could count. And he still wanted to take you more.

You felt his cum leaking out of you, sticky and hot. But it didn’t matter. Every time he finished inside you, he never let it go to waste. He’d push it back in with his fingers, murmuring, “Not done yet, baby. Can’t waste it.”

And here he was still hard, still fucking you like he was trying to break you. “Baby, you can do it. I know you can.”

"I can’t—I can’t…holy fuck….. babe—" you sobbed, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overstimulation. Your body trembled, your legs kicking weakly, but he just growled and forced you to take it.

"Yes, you can. You did it already, didn’t you?" he snarled, his hand moving from your throat to your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His face was twisted in something dark, obsessive. Like he’d die if he didn’t keep you like this. "You’ve been taking it so well, baby. You think I’m letting you stop now?"

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your mind barely tethered to reality as his thrusts turned brutal. "I’m gonna break you, like you break me." he promised darkly, his tongue dragging up your jaw. "You’re gonna leave here and never forget how I fucked you like this. Never."

You sobbed, but your body betrayed you. It was another violent orgasm ripping through you, and your walls clenched so hard around him that he cursed, his hips stuttering. "Fuck! that’s it, baby. You take it all, it belongs to you. Fuck, fuck…..take it, all. Take it!"

Your body arched again, screaming his name, and you felt his cum spill inside you for what had to be the fifth time that day. But Satoru still didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and gasped, trying to push at his chest, he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

"I’m not done." His voice was wrecked, but his cock was still hard inside you. "I said I’m not done, baby."

"Satoru…please. I’m full of you.”

"You will." His teeth bared in a dangerous grin. "You’re gonna stay here, in this bed, until you can’t fucking walk."

And you believed him. Because the hunger in his eyes wasn’t fading — it was getting worse.

The moment you tried to push at his chest again, his grip snapped.

"Don't fucking do that, baby." Satoru growled, his hand flying to your throat again, pinning you hard into the mattress.

His cerulean eyes were wild, almost rabid, pupils dilated so far there was barely any blue left. His chest heaved, his cock still buried deep inside you, still hard, despite just filling you moments ago. "Don’t fucking push me away."

"I can’t —" your voice cracked, absolutely wrecked, tears streaking your face as your body spasmed beneath him. "Satoru, I can’t — I can’t take anymore —"

"Yes, you can." His grip on your throat tightened, his teeth bared like an animal. "I’m not done with you. You’re not leaving this fucking bed until I say you can."

Your body jerked as he pulled his hips back and slammed into you again. It was too deep, too hard, too much. Your scream was choked, his grip blocking the sound, and your eyes rolled back as another orgasm shattered you. Your thighs clamped around his waist involuntarily, but he didn’t let up.

"Fuck, yes," Satoru groaned, his head dropping back, white hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. "That’s my fucking girl—keep squeezing me like that. Fucking take it. Take all of it."

"Satoru — I —"

"What?" His hand released your throat only to grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His hips were still punishing, rutting into you like he’d die if he stopped. "You wanna stop? Huh? Is that what you’re crying for?"

You couldn’t answer. Your mouth opened, but only broken sobs fell out as your body twitched beneath him. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. Your brain was scrambled from overstimulation, but your body still craved him. It was like a drug you couldn’t quit.

"Nah, baby." Satoru’s voice was dark, twisted, and unrecognizable. "You don’t get to fucking quit. Not when you keep coming around my cock like this — you like it. You fucking love it. Look at you."

Your eyes were blurred with tears, but you couldn’t look away. His face was pure madness. Everything about him was flushed. You could see his teeth gritted, brows furrowed as his eyes bored into yours with deranged obsession. Like he was watching you come apart and thriving off it.

"Satoru, the butler’s going to come soon! H–he said he’ll bring up supper! Y–you…fuck! You heard him on the phone earlier!” you choked out, voice cracking. "We….we have to stop—"

A laugh fell from Satoru’s lips, his grip on your jaw bruising. “Baby, don’t worry. Do you think they’ll care?" His thrusts got harder, splitting you open again and again, like he wanted to break you. "You think they’ll care about me making love to the love of my life?”

"Satoru—"

"Let him watch, if he wants.”

Your body froze. "W-what?"

"You heard me." His voice was eerily calm, but his grip on your jaw trembled with fury. "If he walks in here and sees you like this and sees you all fucked out and dripping with my cum , let him watch.”

“That’s….Satoru….You—” Terror shot down your spine, but it was overshadowed by the way his words only added to the arousal building in your gut again. "Y–you’re insane!"

"I know." Satoru grinned, manic and unhinged. "I fucking know. And I don’t care. Let him stare. That’s all they’ll ever get. But baby, I get to love you like this for the rest of our lives. I don’t care if they all stare.”

“Satoru, you’re being an….fucking…..idiot!” You croaked to him, your nails digging harder against his back. Arousal tightening against him. “You’re….fucking…..fuckkkkk.”

"I don’t care babe!" His hand flew to your thigh, spreading you wider, shoving himself deeper into you, making your back arch from the intrusion. "I don’t care what they do. You’re mine now. ‘m yours too. That’s all that matters. You get that, baby?

"Satoru. Fuck you, you brat—”

"Say it, baby." His hand left your thigh and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him again. "Fucking say it. Say you’re mine."

Your stomach twisted. Your mind was unraveling. "I’m yours….fucking yours."

"Louder." He bottoms down, slowing a little bit, to hear your words clearer.

"I’m yours.....Fucking yours, only yours.....Fuck, fuck, you’re getting deeper…..and….and fucking hell, you’re fucking mine. You fucking hear me? Fucking mine, you…you bastard!"

"I’m fucking yours, babe. Forever and ever. How’s that sound?” He starts once again, moving deeper and then picking up the pace. “Love it babe. Love it.”

"You….you better fucking do.” You groaned loudly, wrapping your legs higher, meeting his thrusts at the fastening speed.

“Of course, I do.”

You bit his neck, tighter and tighter. “G–good….you bastard. Fuck, more. More, Satoru. Deeper…..fucking deeper!”

His groan was visceral, chasing your command with all he could. Your lover had become more animalistic than before. His mouth devoured yours, tongue shoving in deep, teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip until you tasted blood. His thrusts turned inhumane and accursed, like he was trying to carve himself so deeply inside you that you’d never forget.

"That’s it, fuck. You’re perfect. You’re my everything." he panted against your lips. "That’s my fucking girl. Mine. Fucking mine…..I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I swear to fucking god, baby….I’ll kill for you. Anyone, anything. Just to have you with me."

And you believed him. Because the unhinged, murderous look in his bright blue eyes wasn’t pretend. You knew it was real. Gojo Satoru had officially snapped. Days locked in this villa with you, keeping you in bed, not letting you leave. It had broken something inside him. And now he couldn’t stop.

"Satoru….fuck, fuck, babe. I can’t anymore…..I’m gonna come!"

"Again." His hand slapped your thigh. "Come again. I wanna feel you fucking milk me dry, baby. Don’t stop—"

"I can’t, you’re too….fuckkkkkk, fuckkkk….You feel good.” You cried and cried, weeping as you held him tighter, feeling euphoria you had never thought before possible.

"Yes, you fucking can."

And you did. You came so hard you almost blacked out. Your vision blurred, your body convulsed, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. And the second you did, Gojo Satoru had his final stand off.

"You fucking feel so good. Fuck, fuck, baby." His hands bruised your waist, his cock jerking deep inside you as he spilled again. It was once more hot, thick ropes of cum that filled you to the brim. “Fuckkkkkkk!”

Your entire body arched, twitching as his thrusts stuttered, grinding deep as if he was trying to force his seed even deeper. "Shit, baby…..you’re so full of me….Fuck, baby, I can’t stop wanting to fill you good!"

And he didn’t. Even after he came, his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept thrusting, fucking his own cum back inside you, his mind completely broken. “Satoru, you’re—”

"I’m gonna put a baby in you, baby." Satoru panted wildly, his voice dripping with obsession. "You hear me? I’m gonna keep you here….I’m gonna fuck you until you’re full of me. I’m gonna put a fucking baby in you.”

"Satoru, baby…..I’m full of you, fuck!”

"Mine, mine, mine—"

And you couldn’t escape his tightening hold.

Because the terrifying part was a truth you didn’t say out loud.

You didn’t want to part from it all.

THE SHOWER WAS MUCH NEEDED TO BE SURE. And you were lucky to shower before the butler actually arrived. He hadn’t shown up just yet. And that was a relief to you.

You had hit Satoru for a while, because you were flustered coming to your senses, knowing a man could have seen your partner fucking you well. Satoru merely laughed.

You can only thank whatever higher power had mercy on your debauched souls. You both needed at least ten minutes to pretend you hadn’t been trying to devour each other since sunrise.

The air in the bathroom was thick with steam, clinging to your skin like a second, hotter layer. The mirrors were already fogged up, the scent of expensive soap and something headier. The sweat, breath, skin were all just hanging in the air.

But neither of you noticed. Not really. Not with your chest heaving and your back against the cool tile, and Satoru’s mouth still tracing the shape of your jaw like he was mapping it for memory.

Your legs were trembling, practically useless, so he held you there with a firm grip around your hips, his broad frame still pressed to yours like he hadn’t decided to let you go yet.

“I was a little rough, wasn’t I?” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from the things he'd groaned into your ear an hour ago. He pressed a kiss just below your ear, then another to your collarbone. “Sorry, baby. Got carried away.”

You laughed, breathless, fingers sliding through his damp hair. “You say that like I didn’t scratch half the skin off your back.”

He chuckled, low and pleased. “You did. It was hot.”

“You were hot, ‘toru.” you corrected, tilting your head back as he kissed a new bruise blooming near your neck. “Still are.”

He hummed against your skin. “You bit me. Hard.”

“You liked it.”

“I love it very much.” he said with a grin that made you squeeze your eyes shut from the sheer intimacy of it. “I love everything you do to me.”

Your fingers ghosted over the angry red lines down his shoulders. “I should apologize too.”

“For what?” he whispered, thumb brushing under your chin to lift your face back to his. “Making me lose my mind? Making me say filthy things into your ear until you forgot your name? No, baby. Don’t apologize for that.”

You shivered at the memory, skin still tingling, still tender in places. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re irresistible, baby.” he replied, as if it were a fact of nature. Then softer, almost reverent, he added, “You should see yourself right now. Hair wet, skin flushed, legs still shaking. You ruin me.”

You swatted his chest, not with any real force. “We have at least ten minutes before the butler arrives, Satoru.”

“Plenty of time, baby.” he said without missing a beat, already reaching for the shampoo like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just wrecked you and then made it romantic.

You huffed, leaning your forehead against his chest, his warmth anchoring you to the moment. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love with you.” he whispered, fingers combing through your hair like you were something delicate and sacred. “That’s even worse.”

And just like that, the steam wasn’t the only thing making the room feel so impossibly full. So soft. So much. You let out a quiet laugh at his words, closing your weary eyes as the water poured over both of you.

“Then help me not look like I just crawled out of your bed, and maybe the butler won’t quit.”

“No promises, baby.” he smirked. “But I’ll try.”

“Hm, so will I.”

“Give me five minutes, baby.” he breathes into your ear, voice thick with heat and mischief.

His lips ghost along your skin like he’s trying to brand you with just his breath. The warmth of his words, the low timbre of his tone. It’s almost worse than the hands that haven't left your body since you stepped out of the shower.

Your cheeks flush instantly, the color blooming high and hot, because you know exactly what five minutes means in Gojo Satoru’s language. And it’s never five. Ever. You know your lover way too well for that.

“Actually… just two minutes, at the very least.” he amends, already trailing kisses down your neck like a man possessed. “You don’t even need to do anything. Just… let me.”

“Satoru…” you gasp, voice catching as his fingers slide between your thighs again, slow and certain, right where you’re still sensitive. Still aching, still trembling from the last time you told him you couldn’t go again.

Your whole body jolts in response, hips twitching before you can stop yourself. You press your hand to his chest, not to push him away, but to ground yourself. Because you can’t. Not again. Your body is begging for a break, but your heart is already folding.

“Stop, baby…” you plead softly, breath hitching. “I can’t…”

But he’s already pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, his nose brushing your cheek as he whispers, almost reverent, “We’ll actually eat after, I promise.”

He’s grinning—smug and beautiful and completely unrepentant. “Just one more, baby.” he murmurs like a prayer. Like a devil luring you into a sin you both know you’ll never regret. “Please.”

And the worst part is that you always give in.

You always believe him. Even when you shouldn’t.

And unfortunately, you become as playful as him.

You shudder, legs already weak, caught in that hazy middle place between resistance and surrender. And Satoru knows it. Feels it in the way your breath stutters, the way your fingers curl around his wrist instead of pushing him away.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone. “You always say you can’t. But you always let me make you feel good anyway.”

You turn your face into his neck, heart racing, teeth pressing into your lip to suppress the moan building too fast in your throat. “That’s because you don’t play fair.”

He huffs a soft, sinful laugh against your skin. “I never promised to.”

That’s why lately he seemed… happier. You indulge him, you keep him happy. You humor him. You accept him whole. You love him whole. And just as much you let him do all that for you too, you let him have devotion complete him and his life. You let him have happiness.

This is not the kind of happiness that makes headlines or gets captured in flashbulbs. Not the showy, curated kind. But something quieter. More grounded. More secure. The way his shoulders sat lower. The ease in his laugh. The glow that didn’t come from lighting or makeup, but from something, someone, steady beneath the surface.

He looked well-rested, too. For once.

Like he’d finally given himself permission to breathe.

And in his interviews, something had changed.

He spoke more deliberately now, less performative and more open. And when the conversation drifted toward love, because it always did, eventually, he no longer danced around it with jokes or vague metaphors.

Instead, he’d smile, tilt his head a little, and say things like: “Love is showing up, I think. Over and over. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s quiet.”

Or: “It’s not always fireworks. Sometimes it’s knowing someone remembers how you take your tea, or what song makes you cry. That kind of thing stays.”

And every time, every time, the world would erupt with speculation. The tabloids would buzz. Fans would dissect every word, every glance, every new piece of jewelry or change in wardrobe, wondering who it was.

Who had Satoru Gojo fallen in love with?

But you knew. You knew it in the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, like he was memorizing you. In the notes he left tucked into your books. In the quiet gratitude in his voice when he’d say: “Thanks for waiting up, baby.” or “I missed this so much, baby.” like it was a confession.

You didn’t need the world to know. Not really. Because when he said “she grounds me with everything.” on a late-night talk show, or “I didn’t know I could be loved like this, you know?” in a magazine profile, you knew it all too well.

He was talking about you.

You knew, every single time—it was you.

And there will only ever be you.

When he talked about the way love had softened him, made him better, you remembered the quiet evenings on your couch, your fingers carding through his hair while he let himself fall asleep without armor for once. You remembered the mornings he spent reading next to you in bed, his knee brushing yours under the covers, like even in sleep, he needed to know you were close.

So when he said in that glossy cover story: “It’s not the kind of love that makes you lose yourself. It’s the kind that hands you back to yourself, steadier.”

It wasn’t just a beautiful quote. It was a memory. It was true. It was you, pressing a kiss to his temple when he told you he was afraid of not being enough anymore. It was you, reminding him that he could be tired, that he could be soft, that he could be held, and the world wouldn’t fall apart because of it.

When he looked directly into the camera during a premier night red carpet and laughed shyly after being asked if he was in love and then said: “Yeah. I think I’ve been for a while. I just didn’t know what to call it at first.”

God. You knew. You were the only one who saw him on the in-between days, when he wasn’t glowing under studio lights or basking in the glow of red carpets. You were the one who listened when he questioned himself, who stayed when he asked for space but didn’t really want to be alone.

He spoke of her, you, like a story he’d lived into. Not a fantasy, not an escape. A real thing. A grounding thing. And maybe he didn’t say your name. Maybe the world would never know exactly who he meant when he smiled a little too softly, when he looked down and mumbled something private in the middle of an interview, like the memory was too precious to speak aloud.

But you knew. You knew it in the way he always texted you afterward, even if it was just a heart emoji or a blurry photo of his dressing room mirror. You knew it in the voice messages at the end of the day—tired, warm: Hey, did you watch it? Was I weird? I thought about you when they asked that love question.

You were the thread in every word he spoke about gentleness, about coming home to someone who made him feel safe in a world that never quite let him rest. The world could guess all they wanted. Whisper, speculate, make charts and guesses and fandom theories.

But the truth was never in question. Because the way he looked at you when he walked through your door after a long trip, when his whole body exhaled just from seeing you standing there—it told you everything. It was always you.

YOU WERE SATISFIED WITH YOUR LIFE, TRULY. There was warmth in your days that you never thought you’d ever find for yourself. It was quiet, earned happiness. The home you’d built was full of laughter and good food and people who loved you deeply.

Gojo Satoru’s hand always finds yours, even in sleep. Your children, growing into themselves with humor and kindness, called or visited often, always bringing noise and stories and that joyful kind of chaos that only family can.

You had friends. You had peace. You had enough. And yet. There was this ache. Soft, but persistent. Like a door inside you that had never fully closed. You knew what it was. You always had. You wanted to be a chemist.

You’d wanted it for so long that it had once felt like a part of your blood, your breath, your blueprint. You used to dream in formulas, used to feel your hands itch for glassware and lab notes. The thought of discovery used to thrill you. It was not for acclaim or prestige, but for the simple, sacred magic of understanding how the world worked, molecule by molecule.

But life has taken you on other roads. Beautiful ones, no doubt, but different. Detours that became destinations. You made choices, built a life. You found love, more than once. You became a mother.

You learned how to hold a family together, how to cook three meals while writing deadlines pressed down on your back, how to be present, even when your dreams whispered from another room.

And now, in your late forties, that dream felt far away. Like something belonging to a younger version of yourself. A version who hadn’t known grief yet. Who hadn’t learned how to compromise. Who hadn’t yet fallen in love with other things. With books, people, seasons, the slow beauty of an ordinary afternoon.

But still, it pulled at you. You kept circling the idea. Clicking on courses. Watching lectures late at night. Making excuses not to apply. Then reopening the tab again in the morning. You told yourself it was too late.

Your children didn’t agree.

“Why not?” Keiko asked you once, over coffee, her voice gentle but firm, like she was already anticipating your excuses. She stirred sugar into her cup absently, but her eyes never left yours. “You tell us we can be anything. Why not you, mom?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something witty or self-deprecating, to laugh it off the way you always did. But nothing came out. Because Nanami Keiko had always been sharp, always seen through you, even when she was little. She didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the truth behind them.

Kenshin was sitting across from you, legs sprawled out like he still hadn’t outgrown the teenage habit of taking up too much space. But he looked up from his phone then and nodded without hesitation.

“Yeah, Mom.” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I’m sure Tokyo University will let you come back. You donate so much to everything there. Plus….You’re, like, crazy smart. You always will be. Plus, they’re probably waiting for someone like you to shake things up a little.”

You snorted into your tea, shaking your head. “I’d be twice the age of my classmates. Maybe more.”

“So?” Keiko shrugged. “You always say learning doesn’t expire.”

You laughed then. A reflex. An instinct. The kind of laugh that was meant to deflect, to soften the edges of the truth they were gently pushing toward you. But their words stayed with you, as your words with them.

They lingered like a dare. Like a blessing. Like two mirrors held up to you from either side of the table, showing you what they saw: someone capable. Someone worth investing in. Someone who could. And it rattled you, in the best way. You realized you raised your kids too well.

For years you’d told them those words: dream big, work hard, don’t let anyone else define your path.

You said it when they doubted themselves, when their grades dipped, when the world was loud and cruel and uncertain. You said it because you believed it with your whole heart. But you hadn’t applied it to yourself. Not in a long time.

Your beloved Keiko and Kenshin weren’t challenging you out of impatience or pressure. There was no timeline, no ultimatum, no “you should have done this years ago.” — not a single peep of judgment or malice.

There was only love.

There was only faith.

There was only joy.

Only the gentle belief that you were still allowed to want things. And that belief, their belief cuts through all the noise in your head. You were sure that you felt it in your heart that other than leaving your horrible marriage, raising your kids was the other best thing you’ve ever done.

It made you wonder what it would feel like to walk back through the doors of that university, older, yes, but also fuller. To sit down with a blank notebook and a sharpened pencil and write your name on the first page.

Not just as a mother, not as a partner, not as a caretaker or host or writer or planner but just as you. No prefixes. No titles. Just the version of yourself who still dreamed. The one they still believed in.

Gojo Satoru, too, had noticed.

Of course he had, easily.

Your partner was just the best with that.

He noticed everything about you. Not just the way your eyes sparkled when you were laughing, or the way your breath hitched slightly when you were moved but the smaller, quieter tells. The ones even you didn’t always catch.

Like how your posture subtly straightened whenever a science documentary came on, how you instinctively leaned forward, completely absorbed, mouthing terms under your breath. Or how you paused mid-chop in the kitchen to rant about a show getting a chemical process wildly wrong, then blinked in surprise when he started grinning at you.

“You were listening?” you’d asked, half–sheepish. You shook your head. “Figures.

“Obviously. I’m that type of guy, baby.” he said. “You’re way more fun than the actors pretending they know what ‘stoichiometry’ is.”

So one night after a long day of promotion work, unannounced, in the middle of an otherwise ordinary evening—your boyfriend brought home a box. You looked at him confused, but he was just smiling from ear to ear.

Wrapped in paper with tiny molecules printed across it, like he’d gone out of his way to make it thoughtful, not just playful. Inside: a beginner’s chemistry set. Nothing fancy. Just enough glassware and compounds to spark something familiar.

You laughed when you opened it, touched but amused. “Satoru, babe.” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me I need a hobby?”

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Just seeing if the lab spark’s still there.” Then he smiled, that sideways, dimpled grin that always softened you. “Spoiler alert: it is.”

He said it like a certainty. Like he already knew what you were still trying to believe.

Because the truth was, you weren’t unhappy. Your life was full. Deep. Rich with love and memory and purpose. But beneath it all was a piece of yourself you had tucked away for safekeeping, like a glass vial labeled Someday. A part of you that had never been extinguished, only shelved.

Quiet.

Patient.

Unforgotten.

You used to think you’d outgrown that dream. That it belonged to the younger, hungrier you—the one who used to pull all-nighters solving problems no one had assigned, the one who found poetry in equations.

But maybe… it wasn’t about outgrowing it. Maybe that dream had simply needed time. Maybe it had been waiting for you to become the person who could return to it without fear. Who no longer needed it to prove anything, but could pursue it purely for the joy of becoming.

Because now you know things your younger self didn’t: How to endure. How to love. How to begin again.

And maybe, just maybe, now was exactly when you were meant to start.

Yet you did not start just yet.

The doubt was too much of a sinner.

YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT LONG AND HARD. And it was all over your head these few weeks. You were pretty sure your partner knew that too. How could he not, when he was the one that knew you this well?

The air between you and Satoru was thick with the kind of silence that only followed moments of true intimacy. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, but a content one. It was the kind that lingered after everything had been said in quiet gasps and tender touches.

Your bodies had tangled together with ease, finding that familiar rhythm, that soft, perfect connection that existed between the two of you. The sheets, half-draped across your bodies, barely covered the curve of your waist, and Satoru’s arm was slung lazily across you, like he had no intention of ever moving again.

It felt like a moment frozen in time—a pause before the world outside crept back in.

Through the gentle hum of the night, the rain outside tapped lightly against the windows, its rhythm matching the pulse of your heart, calm and steady. The sound of it brought a kind of peace to the room, as though the universe itself was holding its breath with you, waiting for something. Or maybe, it was just you who was waiting.

You turned your head, just enough to catch the faintest gleam of his silver lashes against his cheek. The peace on his face was so unmistakable, so deeply serene, that you almost didn’t want to disturb it.

You wanted to stay there forever, just existing in this little bubble of warmth and stillness. But the thought was there, persistent, tugging at you like an unspoken word at the edge of your mind. It had been there for days, weeks even, and now, in this tender moment, it finally found its voice.

“I was thinking about school again, ’toru.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt almost like a confession. It was something soft and vulnerable, spilling out as if it had been quietly waiting for permission to be heard. “About… coming back to….maybe try it again.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and delicate all at once. You didn’t look at him right away, unsure of how he might respond. You weren’t sure you were even ready to hear it, but they were out now.

Satoru’s response was instant. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room as they locked onto you with that spark in them that always made you feel like he saw the whole of you. He blinked, like he was still waking up from something deeper than sleep, and then his face shifted into an expression of pure warmth.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice husky with sleep, still filled with that post-intimacy softness that only made him sound more sincere. He propped himself up on his elbow, his fingers brushing across your skin absently, a touch that was both casual and intimate. “That’s amazing. You should go for it.”

There was that enthusiasm again, that effortless support you’d come to count on from him. It made your heart flutter, but it also made you feel like you were suddenly on the edge of something big. It was a precipice you weren’t sure you were ready to stand on.

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. You wanted to believe in it, wanted to feel that same excitement he was projecting, but it felt distant, like a dream that wasn’t quite your own.

“I don’t know…” The words slipped out, coated with uncertainty.

“No, really.” he continued, not missing a beat, his voice softening into something almost pleading now, like he couldn’t understand why you were second–guessing yourself. “You’ve been talking about this for so long. You light up whenever it comes up, babe. I think you should do it. What’s stopping you?”

He wasn’t wrong. Every time you spoke about it, about chemistry, about the passion you once felt….It was as if a light flickered in your eyes, the old flame rekindling in ways you hadn’t realized. He understood better than anyone. He loved chemistry too, as much as he loved you.

But hearing him say it so simply, so assuredly, made it feel like you were being asked to jump into something that you didn’t know how to approach. You flinched slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around your chest, a physical barrier that mirrored the one in your mind.

“I just…” You paused, your heart starting to thump harder, louder in your chest.

The vulnerability you hadn’t expected to feel in this moment surged, and you couldn’t shake the sense of fear creeping in. “I don’t know if I’m ready. It’s been so long. What if it’s too late? What if I can’t keep up, or I’ve forgotten everything? What if it’s a waste of time? A waste of—”

Before you could continue, Satoru’s hand found yours, his touch gentle, grounding. “Hey, baby.” he murmured, his voice full of quiet understanding. “It wouldn’t be any of that. And you wouldn’t be doing it alone. You’d have all of us. It’s me, the kids, everyone. You’d be doing something for you, and that’s—”

His words, full of love and unwavering support, cut through the panic building inside you, but it wasn’t enough to calm the storm that was rising in your chest. You needed space. You needed time to think, not in the middle of this moment.

“I’m tired, babe.” you said, cutting him off with a sharpness that you immediately regretted. The words were out before you could catch them, but they were there, ringing in the air between you. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but it was palpable. Satoru’s hand stilled in yours, and for a moment, you both just lay there, the weight of your emotions settling between you like a gentle fog.

He was quiet, not pushing you, not questioning your need for space, but still present. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… aware. He sighed, a soft sound that was more for himself than for you, and nodded slowly, pulling away just a fraction, giving you room to breathe.

“Okay, baby.” he said quietly, his voice full of the kind of understanding that only came from years of knowing someone deeply. “Tomorrow.”

You didn’t mean to push him away, but you needed this. You needed a moment where the dream was just that. It was a dream, not a pressure. One night where you didn’t have to make any decisions. Where you could just breathe and let things settle.

And Satoru, as always, understood. He didn’t pull away completely. Instead, he curled back around you, his body molding against yours, a comfort. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, a promise of patience, of waiting.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” he whispered into the quiet of the room, his words a balm, a gentle reassurance. “I’ll be here.”

And you knew that he meant it. In the way he said it. In the way he held you. He wasn’t rushing you. He was just there. The silence between you and Satoru lingered, but it was no longer filled with tension.

Instead, it was a comfortable kind of quiet, one where the weight of the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in the warmth of your shared space.

The rain outside had softened into a gentle patter, a lullaby that seemed to carry away the restless energy from the conversation that had almost been too much too soon.

Satoru’s arm draped over you once more, his fingers grazing the curve of your waist in a gesture that was equal parts tender and possessive. It was his way of showing you, without words, that he was still here. Still present.

His warmth seeped into your skin, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rhythm that mirrored your own breath. You felt the cool touch of the night air against your skin.

But there was something about the quiet intimacy of the moment that made everything feel safe, like you could be anything, do anything, and still be loved. Even your doubts, the ones that had clouded your thoughts for weeks, seemed less urgent now. Not gone, but softened—held in the gentle care of his presence.

“I know you want it, baby.” Satoru said softly, breaking the silence, his voice low, almost a murmur. “And I know you can do it. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Don’t let fear keep you from something you’ve always wanted.”

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, finding his gaze already fixed on you, those familiar blue eyes filled with understanding and something more. A quiet conviction. A belief in you that went beyond your own self-doubt.

“I just… I don’t know if I have it in me anymore. I’m not the same person I was when I first dreamed of it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the vulnerability creeping in once more. “I’m not sure I’m still that person.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against yours, a subtle, intimate gesture that made your heart flutter. His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice soft but steady. He takes a moment before speaking.

“You’re still you, the same person with the same fire. You don’t lose that. Not even if you take a break for a while. It’s still there, waiting for you to reach for it again. All you need to do is trust it.”

You let out a slow breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to take that step, to push past the fears and doubts. But there was something so terrifying about the unknown, about putting yourself out there again after all this time. What if you weren’t good enough? What if it was too late?

But then Satoru shifted slightly, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so gentle it felt like a promise. "And no matter what, I'll be here. With you, every step of the way. You don't have to do it alone."

The sincerity in his voice was enough to calm the panic swirling inside you. He meant it. You knew he did. And maybe that was what you needed to hear. Maybe that was all you needed, the reassurance that no matter where this journey took you, you wouldn’t be walking it by yourself.

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Tomorrow, then, ‘toru.” you whispered, the uncertainty still there, but tempered by something more—something that felt like courage, hidden under the layers of fear and doubt.

“Tomorrow.” Satoru echoed softly, his lips pressing to the crown of your head, holding you close, as if grounding you to this moment.

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many times you doubted yourself, no matter how many times you felt like you weren’t enough or that it was too late, there would always be someone by your side. Someone who believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself.

And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe, too.

THE EVENING UNFOLDED LIKE A DREAM. It was the kind of night that felt like it was tailor-made for memories. It was your fourth year anniversary, and Gojo Satoru had whisked you away to a private, elegant restaurant he’d rented out for the two of you.

The place was intimate, with soft candlelight flickering across the tables and the hum of classical music playing in the background. The meal was incredible, an array of dishes that felt like an orchestra of flavors. Each bite seemed to deepen the connection between the two of you, like a conversation without words.

You laughed, you talked about everything and nothing. There were moments where Satoru would look at you with that mischievous smile of his, and you would feel your heart flutter as if the world hadn’t shifted, as if time hadn’t passed. You were still the same. He was still the same. And the love between you. Well, that had only deepened.

As the night wound down, the sky outside had darkened into a rich navy, the moon casting a soft glow across the horizon. You were both standing, preparing to leave, when Gojo Satoru stopped you with a soft word.

“I have a surprise for you, baby.” he said, his voice carrying the familiar warmth, but there was something else in it. Something a little more serious, a little more solemn. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, held a quiet intent. “Come with me.”

You followed him out into the cool evening air, the glow of the restaurant fading as you walked toward a sleek black car that was parked nearby. He opened the door for you, helping you in with a grin that made you wonder what kind of surprise he had in store.

The drive was short, but there was a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air. You couldn’t help but feel like something big was about to happen, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

It wasn’t like Satoru to keep secrets. At least, not ones that didn’t involve teasing you in playful ways. But this felt different. Finally, the car came to a stop, and Satoru turned to you with a knowing look, a hint of something serious flickering in his eyes.

“Wait here, okay?” he said, before stepping out and disappearing into the dark.

Moments later, he returned with something in tow. Two large suitcases, their zippers securely fastened, the weight of them making his stride a little slower than usual. He set them down in front of you, his expression soft but unreadable.

“What’s this?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Satoru knelt down beside the suitcases, unzipping them one at a time. When the first one opened, you could hardly believe your eyes. Piles of cash, stacked neatly in bundles, filled the case to the brim. Your breath caught in your throat.

“What is all this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you were seeing things correctly. “Satoru….Oh my god.”

He reached into the suitcase, pulling out a thick stack of bills, his fingers brushing the edges of them as though they were delicate things. He smiles at you, with so much pride. That pride that could only be as pure as the driven snow.

“This is what you think it is.” he said to you tenderly. “This is the money you gave up for me. To help me escape. To get me away from my mother. The money you sacrificed when you helped me study, when you gave me a chance at a life outside of the abuse and everything that held me back.”

He paused, looking up at you, his face hardening slightly, as if the weight of it was just now hitting him. “This is the money you gave up for me to leave everything behind. And tonight, I’m giving it back to you.”

Your heart raced, confusion swirling in your mind. “Satoru, I—”

“There’s more, baby.” he interrupted, and you could see the emotion in his eyes, raw and unguarded.

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, what do you mean?”

“This….”—he tapped the bundles of cash—“has twenty years of interest on it. You’ve been waiting for me to give this back, and tonight, I’m doing it. You deserve it. You deserve to have it back, all of it.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and the moment seemed to stretch out, frozen in time. Your mind struggled to comprehend it. It was twenty years of interest. The money. The sacrifice. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker as everything clicked into place.

“I know you hate that you have to still depend on what Nanami gives you.” Your partner smiles at you. “You had to give your own savings to me to save my and my mom’s lives. I just….I wanna give your life back to you, babe.”

“You don’t have to do this.” you said, your voice trembling slightly. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the edge of the suitcase, but you didn’t dare touch the cash. Not yet. “Satoru, this is too much. I can’t….I can’t accept this!”

Satoru looked at you with such intensity, his face softer than you had ever seen it. “I want to do this. You never asked for it, but you deserved it, from the moment I left that house to start over. This is me giving you what you should have gotten all along. Every penny of it. And more, if I could give it.”

There was so much unsaid in those words. It was so much more than just the money, just the years that had passed. You were just overwhelmed by it all. You were overwhelmed by his kindness, his tenderness, his love.

It was his way of saying thank you, of showing you just how deeply he understood what you had sacrificed, even when you hadn’t said a word. It was a way for him to show you that he had never forgotten. That he could never forget what you did for him.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back, not out of pride, but because you couldn’t let the weight of this moment overwhelm you. You had always been the one who gave, who put others first. But Gojo Satoru… Satoru had always known how to turn that around, how to see you. Really see you.

“You don’t need to repay me for any of that, babe.” you said softly, but the words felt hollow in the face of his gesture.

You could feel the magnitude of his love and respect in every inch of this moment. He was doing this not out of obligation, but out of gratitude, out of a desire to give you something back that was long overdue.

“I know, I know,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “But I want to. I need to. So you’ll know that you’re always worth it. That you were never a second thought. That you have always been everything.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, taking in what he had done for you. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about love. The recognition of everything you had given up, everything you had done. Satoru had seen it all, and now, he was giving it back to you, with interest.

And in that moment, you knew that no matter where life took you, you had everything you needed. You had love, you had respect, and most of all, you had someone who would always make sure you never had to sacrifice for anyone but yourself again.

Satoru’s gaze softened as he saw the doubt flicker across your face. He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch grounding you as you stood there, frozen in the moment, surrounded by the weight of his gesture.

"I know you don’t want my money." he said quietly, his voice steady, but his eyes filled with something much deeper. Something like tenderness. "But this isn’t just money I’m giving you. This is your money. The money you sacrificed all those years ago to help me start a new life, to help me escape the life I was living. It’s time it came back to you. You’ve earned it."

The simplicity of his words hit you harder than you expected. It wasn’t just the physical money. It was everything. All the years of pain, the sacrifice, the love, and the dreams that had been deferred.

And now, Gojo Satoru was giving it back to you, asking you to take what was rightfully yours, to use it for something you had always wanted but never fully allowed yourself to reach for. You were finally going to be free.

He placed the money in your hands, but it felt like he was offering you something far more precious. “I want you to use this to go back and study chemistry. I want you to finally fulfill that dream, the one that’s been waiting for you. I want you to be whole.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The tears welled up quickly, spilling over your lashes before you could even blink them away. Your chest tightened as everything you had held back for so long. The guilt, the doubt, the fear, it all came rushing to the surface. You felt like you were drowning, but in the best way.

You could barely find the words as you turned to him, pressing your face into his chest, the sobs shaking through your body. Gojo Satoru held you close, his hands running soothingly over your back, offering his strength and his presence.

“I don’t know how to thank you, babe.” you whispered through your tears, your voice muffled against his skin. “I never… I never thought you would—"

“You don’t have to thank me, you know.” he murmured, his lips pressing gently to the top of your head, a quiet promise in his voice. “You deserve this. You deserve everything, and I want to see you happy. I want to see you live the life you’ve always wanted, with no more excuses. I want to see you go after your dreams and never look back.”

You held him tighter, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. “I don’t know if I would’ve ever had the courage to do this on my own. To really go after it. But with you… I feel like I can. I feel like it’s possible.”

Satoru’s arms wrapped around you even more securely, holding you as though he could protect you from all your fears, all your insecurities. “You’ve always had the courage, baby. You just needed someone to remind you. And I’ll always be here to remind you. No matter what.”

You let the tears fall freely now, no longer holding back the flood of emotion. You cried for the years lost, for the dreams that had been on hold, for the life you thought was slipping away. You let yourself feel it all, those tears.

But you knew that you also cried for the hope that had bloomed in your chest, the knowledge that it wasn’t too late. You weren’t too late. And for the first time in a long while, you could see the future in front of you, clear and bright.

When you pulled back, your face was still wet with tears, but the weight in your chest had lifted. You looked up at Gojo Satoru, seeing him with fresh eyes. His love, his patience, his belief in you, in your dreams.

“Thank you, Satoru.” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. It was all you could say. “Truly.”

Satoru smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to thank me, just… go live your life. Go do what makes you feel whole. And I’ll be here, cheering you on every step of the way, okay? I am your biggest cheerleader.”

You nodded, a quiet promise to yourself forming in the depths of your heart. You had spent so many years unsure of who you were, of what you could be. But now, with Satoru by your side, you could see the path ahead of you—a path that was yours to walk. And this time, you weren’t alone.

“I will, ‘toru.” you said, your voice firm and full of conviction. “I will. For me. For us.”

Satoru leaned down, his lips pressing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. “I know you will, baby.” he whispered. “I know.”

And in that moment, everything felt possible. Everything felt like it was falling into place. Because now, for the first time in years, you believed that your dream, your life. Now all of it was finally within reach.

AFTER FOUR YEARS TOGETHER, IT WAS TIME. The news broke quietly, but with an undeniable weight. [last name] [name] and Gojo Satoru, after all the years of shared moments, the lingering chemistry, the journey together had finally decided to announce what had been obvious to those closest to you: you were dating.

The announcement came naturally, a soft exchange between you and Satoru during a rare public moment when your worlds collided. It was simple, understated. No grand declarations, no elaborate explanations, it was just the truth of the matter.

You weren’t the type to thrive on headlines or public speculation, and neither was Satoru. So, when reporters asked about your relationship, you both simply said you were happy, together, and content with where life had taken you.

Neither of you felt the need to elaborate. The questions surrounding your estranged marriage were left unaddressed, neither mentioned nor speculated on. What mattered now was you and Satoru, in this present, in this space.

For a while, there was silence. The kind of silence that comes from people waiting for the next chapter to unfold. And then, it came. People started to ask everywhere and anywhere — ‘what does Nanami Kento think of this?’

In his latest interview, your estranged husband was suddenly asked about the news of your relationship with Gojo Satoru. He was calm, composed as always, his usual air of professionalism in place as he responded.

The interviewer probed gently, curious if there was any bitterness or unresolved tension. If there was anything to say about the dissolution of your marriage. But Kento, your estranged husband, simply smiled, his eyes betraying nothing but a quiet understanding.

“I’m happy for them, really I am.” he said, his voice steady, measured. “I’m happy for her. She deserves to be happy. And I’m glad that she’s found someone who makes her feel that way. I’m not here to comment on the past, but I do wish them both well. I hope they continue to find joy in each other’s company.”

There was a pause, and then the interviewer asked what anyone would have expected. “Do you think your paths will cross again?”

Kento leaned back slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I mean, we have children together. That’s bound to happen. But I’m too busy. And she has her own life. We’ll see. I’m content with where we all are. Just as she was.”

And just like that, the interview continued, the subject moving on to other topics, but the words hung in the air. It was a quiet, respectful nod to the past, to what had been and what could still be.

The interview had been going smoothly until the interviewer, perhaps trying to pry for more details in order to farm for more views and dirt, asked the question that lingered in the room like an unwanted shadow.

“But you’re still technically married, aren’t you?” the interviewer pressed, a hint of skepticism in their voice as they glanced between Nanami Kento and the camera.

For a moment, Kento was silent, his jaw tightening just slightly as he processed the question. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked about your estranged marriage, but it always felt like an invasion of privacy, a reminder of a chapter he wished he could undo.

Still, he had made peace with the past, and it was time the world did too. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused, and when he spoke, it was with a calm, steady voice. One that carried a weight of truth he hadn’t realized he needed to share.

“That’s none of people’s business.” Kento said, his gaze unwavering. “We’re married on paper, but we’re not together anymore, and she reverted to using her maiden name long ago.” His voice remained even, but there was an honesty there that couldn’t be ignored. “She’s her own person now. Leave her alone.”

The interviewer was momentarily taken aback, probably expecting more resistance, more nuance. But Nanami Kento didn’t hesitate, his words cutting through the tension like a quiet confession.

“I just realized it very late, her worth. I did a lot of wrong.” He continued, a quiet regret in his voice now. “I was the one who hurt her. I was the one who betrayed her. I cheated on her. And I—"

“Mr. Nanami, I didn’t mean—”

“But you did. You mean to get shit out of me, of me being horrible to her. I don’t want to do that.” He stopped for a moment, collecting himself, as if the weight of his own admission settled deeper than it had in years. “It’s time to move forward. I have to live with that thought. It’s time you all do the same.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Nanami paused, letting his words sink in. There was no need to embellish the story or offer excuses. The truth was laid bare for anyone willing to listen.

His gaze softened, but there was no self-pity in his caramel eyes. It was only the understanding that the past could never be rewritten, but it didn’t have to define the future.

“I’m happy for her. That’s that.” Kento added, a subtle shift in his posture as he leaned back, his voice gaining strength. “I’m happy that she’s free from the marriage I helped destroy. She deserves to be happy, and I hope she is.”

The silence that followed was respectful, heavy with the weight of years gone by, but there was peace in the air. Nanami Kento wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He wasn’t making excuses for what had happened. He didn’t deserve to have either.

He had simply come to terms with the reality that you, too, had the right to move on and rebuild your life, without him. And that was okay. That’s just how it was. It was better that way. People should learn to know that too.

The interviewer nodded, clearly sensing the sincerity in his words, and the conversation shifted again, but the echo of Kento’s admission lingered, a quiet acknowledgment that even the most painful truths had their place in the light.

And for you, as you watched the interview unfold, there was a sense of finality to it. Nanami Kento had spoken of the past not with bitterness or anger, but with the quiet understanding that you were no longer defined by your history with him. You had been freed from that chapter, not just by time, but by your own strength and by the love you had found with Satoru.

Kento’s words didn’t undo the hurt or the betrayal, but they gave you the clarity that you had long deserved. It was the validation for the life you had fought to rebuild, and a recognition that, no matter what, you had always been your own person.

In the days that followed, the news spiraled, finding its way into conversations, headlines, and even gossip–filled whispers that had a way of slipping under doors and through cracks.

Some saw the romantic union between you and Satoru as a surprise, others as inevitable, but there was one thing they couldn’t deny. You weren’t the same person you had been before.

For years, you had been trapped in the shadows of your past, tethered to a marriage that had once held so much promise but had slowly become a cage. The divorce with Nanami Kento had always been painted as a sad, complicated chapter of your life, a chapter that people refused to let go of.

But now? Now, you were free from those labels, those assumptions that others tried to write for you.

You sat across from Satoru in your favorite café, the sunlight spilling through the windows and illuminating the space with a soft warmth. The buzz of casual conversation around you felt distant, almost irrelevant.

You could only focus on the present that you live happily now. The present that was now your reality. The present was full of laughter, soft touches, and a love that seemed as though it had always been meant to find you.

Gojo Satoru reached across the table, his fingers brushing over yours, a silent reassurance that you were in this together. The world could be spinning with its opinions, but at that moment, all that mattered was the connection you shared.

“You know, baby.” Satoru began, leaning in slightly with a mischievous grin. “They’re still talking about us, right?” His voice was playful, but his eyes were warm, filled with something deeper than just the humor in his tone.

You laughed softly, feeling the lightness of the moment. “I know. They’re obsessed. But honestly, babe, I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t care that they’re questioning everything? You don’t care that they’re digging into every detail?”

“No, of course not.” you said, shaking your head with a smile that held more peace than you had ever known. “Because I’m not part of their narrative anymore. I’m living my own story now.”

Satoru’s grin softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “I like that. I like the sound of that. Your story. Not anyone else’s. I really really love that.”

“I spent too long living for everyone else, you know?” you admitted, your voice quiet but firm, as if you were finally speaking the truth you had buried for too long. “I let the past define me. I let what other people thought about my life dictate my choices.”

“You’ve always had a mind of your own, baby.” he said, his tone softening as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. “But I get it. You had to find your way out. And now you have. You’ve freed yourself. And here you are now.”

You nodded slowly, your chest filling with a sense of something new, something freeing. “I didn’t even realize it until now. But for the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I’m not defined by what’s happened. I’m defined by what I choose from here on out.”

Satoru’s hand still held yours, a steady anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And you choose this, right? You choose me?”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you squeezed his hand in return. “I choose us. I choose what we’re building. I choose this love.”

The warmth in his smile matched the affection in his eyes. “And I choose you, always.” he said, his voice rich with sincerity. “Every part of you. Every piece of this life we’re building together.”

You leaned across the table, your forehead resting gently against his. The world around you continued to buzz, the voices of others rising and falling, but none of it mattered anymore.

Because what you shared with Gojo Satoru was not a story written by anyone else. It was your own. It was one that you had crafted, nurtured, and chosen to live with all your heart.

And as the days passed, the whispers only grew louder, but you were no longer disturbed by them. They faded into the background, overshadowed by the certainty you carried in your soul. You had found your way, and nothing could take that from you.

Even Kento, who had once been a constant figure in your life, seemed a distant thought. His words of acceptance from the interview lingered in your mind, but they no longer held the same weight they once had. He had let go, and so had you.

You were free from that chapter, free from the expectations of others, free to finally be who you had always been beneath the layers of doubt and obligation. You were your own person now. You belonged to yourself.

You were no longer just someone’s wife, no longer defined by the failures of a past relationship. You were the author of your own narrative. And that narrative, at long last, was one of love, hope, and possibility.

It was a story that had only just begun.

epilogue

The bustling streets of Tokyo had never felt so alive, and yet, there was a calm that settled in your chest as you walked toward the familiar gates of Tokyo University. The campus loomed ahead, its towering buildings standing tall like silent witnesses to the passage of time.

You had walked through these gates once before, years ago, with ambition and dreams shining brightly in your eyes. But then life, as it often does, has steered you in another direction. You were planning to enjoy it all now.

Now, as you stood at the edge of the campus once again, those dreams didn’t feel like distant memories. They felt alive, pulsing in your veins, stronger than ever. You had come back for them.

You crossed the threshold, your shoes clicking softly against the stone pathway. Every step felt like a reclaiming, a return to something you had nearly let slip away. The scent of the old buildings mixed with the faint smell of fresh ink and textbooks. It was a scent you had missed.

Entering the main building, you made your way to the student affairs office. The door opened with a soft creak, and the low hum of activity inside made the space feel welcoming, alive with the energy of students coming and going, of new beginnings being made.

You approached the counter, your heart steady despite the nerves that had once kept you from even considering this moment. You hadn’t been sure, back then, if you were meant to walk this path. But now, with each passing second, that uncertainty was fading away.

A friendly receptionist looked up from her computer screen, her smile warm and inviting. “Good morning! How can I help you today?”

You cleared your throat softly, meeting her eyes with a sense of quiet confidence. “Hi, I’d like to inquire about getting a student ID, if you please.”

She tilted her head slightly, intrigued by your request. “Of course. May I have your name, mam?”

You took a deep breath and smiled, the weight of the decision finally sinking in. “My name is [last name] [name], and I’m a chemistry major.”

The receptionist’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she glanced back at you, a hint of surprise in her eyes. You can tell she was probably looking at your records. She happily nodded and smiled warmly.

“Well, it’s an honor to welcome you back, as a UTokyo student again.” she said, her voice laced with sincerity. “Let’s get you set up, okay? You’re starting a new chapter, so we should finish quick here. I’m sure there’s stuff you wanna explore on the campus.”

As she processed the necessary paperwork, you stood there, a quiet sense of fulfillment washing over you. The past years had been filled with challenges, with moments of doubt and struggle, but now, standing here, you realize how far you have come. You had chosen this path, and you were walking it on your own terms.

This was just the beginning, you knew that much. This beginning was just a part of the exciting, unknown journey you’re taking. This beginning was something you had dreamed of for so long. And it was happening. You could feel the future unfolding before you, and it was brighter than you had ever imagined.

When the receptionist handed you the new student ID, she smiled. “Welcome back to Tokyo University!”

“Thank you….Thank you so much.”

Your shining eyes gazed at the lady and you smiled at her. Then back at your ID. It felt surreal. It was like a symbol of everything you had fought for. You saw it all in full.

Your name, your identity, your choice. The chemistry major you had once dreamed of was now a reality, waiting to be filled with knowledge, experiences, and possibilities.

And as you stepped out of the office, holding your ID in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile. You were no longer defined by what you had left behind. You were writing your own story, one step at a time.

The world, once again, was full of endless possibilities.

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